Monster
by EddieGirl
Summary: Her friends scattered, Hawke travels to Tevinter in search of a lost friend. Denarius insists she stay with him, yet Hawke is more interested in the slaves of the city. Hawke will start a new revolution. One monster meets another; can they help each other?
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing related to Dragon Age or the Characters associated with it. I gain no profit in any way shape or form. This is purely fan-made with the intent to entertain.

Enjoy

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"Ah, the lovely Champion from Kirkwall! Please please, do come in." Denarius ushered Hawke in the room. The woman stood, tall and proud. Her hood covered her face, both still damp from the weather. As if on cue, a clap of thunder sounded as she took a step, lightning flashed, lighting up her face. _This was a cold woman,_ Fenris thought as he risked a glance. Before her face turned to him, he ducked his head down once more. Denarius nodded at him to shut the door. He made no expression as he obliged. Staring at the ground, he noticed the water trickled down the woman's cloak, pooling at her boots.

"You could have sent someone to escort me," She nodded to the elf. "Maker's Breath, the trip here should be well worth it."

"Of course! My sincerest apologies, dear, but you had not given me much notice…" Denarius was cheerful though, Fenris could tell. He had sent countless invitations to this woman, whining like a child when he received no reply. "Tevinter is so lucky to have you grace us, mage or no."

"Yes, I had been wondering about that." Her voice was hard, but not spiteful. Her gloved hands pulled back her hood. Her blue eyes caught the light, and Fenris could see her eyes held a much deeper emotion than annoyance or spite. "You insist I come, but you never tell me why. I'm not entirely pleased with the lack of information."

"Right of course of course! Please, come into my study. There is a fire lit and wine poured for your leisure. My boy?"

There was no fire or wine yet. Denarius was ordering him to light and pour and stand still as a statue before their guest entered the study. Swiftly, he took his leave. The stone floor was cold on his bare feet, but the sensation was welcoming. It was nice to be distracted, by anything. He could hear their conversation in the hall, her voice sounding none too pleased. It took only moments to select a wine from the small wine case. There was only one kind. Shimmering glasses sat atop the case in nice, dust free rows. Orana had done well. In a swift movement, he took two glasses and filled them half way. He turned on his heel and set them silently on the small metal table. Replacing the bottle on the wine rack, he was at the fire place in strides. Two quick, heavy strokes of stone upon stone set a spark, and quickly there was a fire blazing. He stood at attention by it, silently taking in the pleasure of the warmth tickling his feet. The room was cast into an orange glow

Perfect, for that moment Denarius walked in with the lady. Her hood was down, but she still donned her cloak. The firelight dances across her face. He could see very clearly she was one who smiled often, yet her attitude did not support that. Perhaps it was due to her harsh journey here. He held out an arm to collect her cloak, but she shook her head.

"Thank you, but I'd rather keep my belongings with me," her eyes stared into his while she spoke. Denarius made a _tsk_ sound and Fenris immediately dropped his eyes. Foolish to look a person in the eye, more so a guest.

"Forgive my little Fenris, it is not often we receive visitors."

"You mean you invited me, multiple times, and did not prepare for my arrival?" Turning her head, she noticed the wine. "Someone apparently was." She nodded at Fenris. He pretended not to notice.

Denarius chuckled and took a seat. Hawke sat likewise, raising an angled eyebrow at the elf.

"Oh don't mind him; he'll stand for as long as I need him too."

"Really? Are all your servants so loyal?"

The laugh that burst from the Magister was mocking. He covered his mouth with a hand, a few outburst escaping. A few moments of silence told the woman had no idea what was so funny.

"My dear, there is so much you do not know. Please, allow my explanation. Fenris is a slave. You may use him and even abuse him as you wish. He and every 'servant' in this city are property. So please, do not feel shy to demand anything you wish. Now, about the subject of your visitation."

Hawke nodded.

"There is something I want to ask of you, Serah Hawke. I am allowed as many apprentices as I so desire, but I only have one. Hadrianna is not…qualified, I'm afraid to say, to surpass me." He took a long sip of the wine. Holding it out, Fenris plucked it and refilled it. "I am working on immortality."

"Really, that's a very vain goal."

"One I will never reach, I know. So, Serah, I'd like to invite you to stay here, and become my heir. I want you not as an apprentice, but as a Magistrate of this city."

Fenris placed the newly filled glass in Denarius's palm. This news was not surprising, nor did it matter. One master, another, it would never matter. A small, bitter part of him was glad he would not belong to Hadrianna. Hawke tilted her head, thinking a moment. Her icy blue eyes seemed to be focused on something far away. Fenris went to take her glass, but noticing she had not touched it, he left it alone.

"Why would I care to become a Magistrate?"

"My entire fortune would become yours."

"Do I seem to need money?" She examined the tips of her gloves. Elven made, with very light lines spread out in some intricate design Fenris did not know. Denarius laughed, as if Hawke were pushing him to the best part.

"You are Champion of Kirkwall, but that is all. Would you not want to expand your reach? You could own this whole city, if you desired. And, forgive me saying so, but you have no one left. Your mother was killed I heard. Your lovely sister was slain as well. What do you have left?"

"So I should become a diplomat to a city filled with slaves and demons? And why do you want me, exactly?"

"That, my dear, will be explained in time. For now, let Fenris show you to your room. I insist he stay the night with you, should you need anything. For now, you will be treated as if you were already a magister." With a nod, he shooed her and Fenris. She stood, frowning slightly, and waited for the elf. Fenris set the bottle back into the rack and stood by the door way. Hawke walked to him, and he began down the hallway. Her boots made wet, squishy sounds. His feet were completely silent. They reached a flight of twisting stairs, and he turned to face her, readying a warning for the steep stone steps.

"What is your name?" Her face was almost a mask. The iris of her eyes dark. It was weird she asked, Denarius had referred to him many times that evening. It was not as if she did not know his name.

"Fenris," He nodded curtly. "The steps are steep here; please guide yourself using the wall." He turned his head and took a few steps. The lack of hers made him pause.

"Mine is Hawke. Why don't you kill him?" Her voice was completely serious. He had to meet her eyes again to know this was no cruel joke.

"A chair does not plot against its owner, a wine does not argue with lips."

"You believe it, don't you?" She took a few careful steps, and he moved as well. They both climbed the stair quietly for a few more moments before she spoke again. "Your markings, they do not look like tattoos."

"They are not," was his curt reply.

As they neared the top of the staircase, he stepped aside. He held out no hand for her, just merely watched her finish the few remaining steps. The squash of her shoes made him groan inwardly. _So noisy._

He took her to the room farthest down. A beautifully carved door stood, stained with neat paints and dyes to look much lighter than the room. He placed his palm in the center, pushing it to one side. It swung open without noise. Again he stood aside to allow her first. She did not move.

"Fenris?"

His stony gaze was his answer.

"Can I trust you?"

His lips curled back into a sneer as he bowed to her, his arm swinging toward the open door. "No."

Hawke tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. A small smile graced her lips. The first one he had seen on her, he realized. She walked past him into the room. A velvet rug spread across the floor, gold thread decorating the edges. Two chairs stood in front of another fireplace, a stone table separating them. There were no windows, but tapestries hung from the walls. A porcelain tub was in a corner, tucked behind a screen for privacy. There was a large wardrobe standing next to the bed, also adorned in red and golden fabric. The room was small, but much larger than Gamlen's shack. She looked over her shoulder to see the door had shut. Fenris leaned against it, arms crossed, a scowl across his face.

"Sit if you'd like." She flicked her wrist at the chairs. He obliged, though he did not look grateful for it. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Silence from the elf.

"Oh for the Maker's sake…" Sighing, she shrugged off her cloak. It fell to the floor with a damp thud. Fenris rose to collect it but she waved him off. "Leave it, I will handle my own things." She strode over to the edge of the bed, giving plenty of space between them. Her gloved fingers nimbly unlaced her boots and she tossed them near her cloak. Next she tugged off the gloves. After throwing those, too, she glanced at the elf. He looked horrified.

"What?"

"If you do not dry them, they will collect mold."

"So?"

"_You_ do not have to clean the mold."

She threw her arms in the air. "Take them then! Void take it all!" She let herself fall back, her legs dangling off the bed, arms outstretched. Her hair fell around, a few strands sticking to her face. In all respect, Fenris thought her beautiful. But in the way one would when admiring a horse or piece of art. Her chin was angular as well as her nose, but her eyes were large. _Too blue_. He gathered her still damp things and spread them out by the fireplace. He lit the fire and crossed his arms, awaiting further command.

"Is there anything else?"

"No," she huffed. "Go if you want to."

"I can not. Denarius assigned me here for the night."

"He was serious?" Another sigh. But he noticed her attitude had changed. Perhaps it was only Denarius she was curt with.

"Yes."

She heard him sit back down. She closed her eyes, listening for any noise in this mansion of slaves. "Why do you listen to him? Why don't you kill him and be free?"

"Do not plant hope," he snarled at her. She could visually see the teeth in that voice. "We are all we will ever be." He said that last bit with so much sadness and loss.

"Where would you go, if you could? And who would you go with?"

"I would not care. And every slave in this mansion. But that itself is foolish to speak."

There was silence for a long time. He looked over and saw her sitting upright, her chin resting in her palms as she stared at him. "Take off your armor." He sighed, knowing this would happen. Denarius thought this was the best part, letting his guests use him for…_personal_ entertainment. He unclasped his breastplate and let it fall to the rug. His black tunic was loose, it was much easier to shrug off. Before he went to his trousers she stopped him. "Wait. Come here, please Fenris." She may as well have not said it, she met him halfway. His silent fury at this humiliation shown in his eyes. But she was looking at his chest and arms. There was no lust in those eyes. She was silent for a long time. Finally, she looked away from him, as if she were ashamed.

"You can put your armor back on, Fenris. I'm sorry I made you do that." She turned her back on him, that's when he noticed the two blades strapped to her back. _Wings of death_, he thought, watching the light dance off them. Her feet pitter pattered on the carpet, but he turned his watchful gaze away from her. She was going behind the screen. Running water sounded, so he kneeled to replace his tunic and armor. His talon-like fingers worked the leather back into the clasps. Fenris sat back in the armchair, watching the fire. This woman was like one he had never met before. She seemed so full of hate and love and the same time. What could have possibly happened to her, and why would she come here?

Well…to receive answers, he supposed, he'd have to give some.

"I tried to escape once."

The slosh of water answered him. Perhaps she did not care, or perhaps she was listening respectfully. Either, he realized, was fine.

"I actually went to Kirkwall. I had met a dwarf, Anso, and he had arranged for a distraction so I may slip away again. Only…" His gauntlets dug into the chair. "It never came. I killed as many as I could, but the Alienage is a trap. If cornered, it is near impossible to get out of. I thought Anso would have come through, that had been foolish. He must have taken off with my coin." A long sigh escaped his lips.

"Would you run again, if you could?" the smell of soap filled the air. It wasn't flowery, it was simply clean.

"If I could, perhaps. But that is a foolish idea. Denarius will hunt me no matter where I go."

More water sloshed. Hawke leaned back into the bubbles. He expected no sympathy, but her silence was almost deafening. Then the sound of it draining seemed too loud. He glanced to see her armor draped over the screen, her silhouette showed she took slow, careful steps. For what reason he did not know.

"Denarius is a worm of a man, but he was right. I do have no one. Carver and Bethany, my siblings, were killed. My mother was murdered by a blood mage." She spat that out as if it were poisoned. He nodded in understanding. "But my friends, after the war," she laughed. "If it can be called a war. We split up. I have one friend here in this city I'd like to find, but aside from him… I am alone here, in a city I have no knowledge of, that treats humans and elves as they would a table." Her voice rose to a bitter tone, but she caught herself.

He rose his eyebrows at her, though she could not see. "Then why are you here?"

A dagger flew. If he had thought himself in danger, he would have moved. Instead, it embedded itself in the stone wall. A tapestry of a man and child hung on that wall. The dagger was lodged in the man's throat, shaking slightly from the force that had thrown it. Fenris turned his head at the woman, she frowned at him. For a moment, she stood with all the pride and honor of a Fog Warrior, and Fenris had to lower his eyes in shame. A long felt cloth was wrapped around her body, her black hair wet. She looked as she had when he had first seen her, blue eyes piercing into him as if she could see his every sin. Staring now at his hands, he heard her drying and clothing herself. Normally he was to assist with these things, but he was not about to volunteer.

"Have you heard stories of me?"

He scoffed. "Slaves are never told stories."

"They say I killed my family. They say I allowed my brother to be killed by an Oger, allowed my mother to be murdered, and drove the sword through my sister. They say I am heartless." She spoke so matter-of-factly, as if she were simply talking of what she had done the day before. "What do you think? Do I seem capable of that?"

"It is not my place to answer such a question."

"You do though. When I came into this…home, your eyes told my exactly what you thought of me." She sat in the chair across from him, looking at her blade in the wall. "I must look like a monster. A cruel killing monster." No sadness was found in her voice, but Fenris could not meet her face. He was a slave, he could not agree with such things. "But if you would like to know what happened, what truly happened, please ask no one but me."

"Why would you not tell Denarius these things?"

"That flamboyant man? I do not trust him. I feel comfortable talking to you though. Not because you are a slave, but because you are honest. I can see it in your face. I'd like to share stories sometime, but I understand. If you wished to tell me, you would. I hope one day you do." A sigh escaped her lips. "I do not care what this city thinks of me. But I do not want you to look at me as if I were a monster."

Fenris said nothing.

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Wanted to try something different. Lemme know your thoughts! I love comments, even more so when you tell me good/bad things about the story line!

Please enjoy my work!


	2. Trust

Thank you for your support!

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_Look at her as if she were a monster._ Fenris repeated that a few times in his head as he peeled an orange. Orana fussed with her papa, tasting and stirring the morning gruel for the slaves. He had opted to prepare Denarius's meal. Baking bread and the smell of citrus filled the air. Orana dusted her hands on her ratty apron. Smears of grease streaked it. Her hollowed face looked especially pale. It was no wonder, they had taken her mother days ago. Anyone taken is assumed dead. That's the cold truth of it. But he turned his attention to the fruits again. This task was easy, simple even. The tips of his gauntlets pierced the skin easily. All he needed to do was control himself, and it would peel perfectly. Light poured in from the windows, yet the kitchen still seemed gloomy. The other man hummed a sad tune, but Orana shushed him.

"Hush Papa. Master has a guest." Her voice shook slightly, but there was a trace of hope laced in it. Not hope for freedom, but hope for Denarius to be in a good mood.

"Guest?" The man looked at his daughter blankly before pulling a tray of tarts from the fire. Orana nodded eagerly. "Oh, the Champion." He placed the tray on the metal table. Slowly, he scattered berries across the tarts. They were still gooey. The berries sank into them, and Fenris could tell they would be delicious once cooled. Sometimes he would receive a burnt tart, which he would hand to Orana. The girl was so weak, and he did not need the treat. As a favorite, he was well taken care of, for a slave. She was likely to follow her mother very soon. He wished furiously, if there was a Maker, to save just this one woman. Couldn't he just save her at least?

"Yes Papa, the woman from Kirkwall."

"Orana, please stay away from her," the older elf was still, blueberries still in his hand. His mouth was drawn into a fine, tight line. "That woman is the embodiment of evil."

"How?"

"Oh I've heard so many things Orana. Hadrianna has done nothing but talk about her." His voice dropped low. "She killed her own family. She killed her _sister_. Just because she was a mage. She fed her brother to the dark spawn, so she could escape. Now that she's here…" The man leaned toward her, his eyes holding fear and worry for his own family. "If she can kill her blood, do you think she would think twice about us? She's a heartless woman."

Fenris took the tray of food out to the dining hall.

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"You are too kind," Hawke repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time. Hadrianna nodded and gushed over her clothing. It wasn't hers, not really. When she awoke, it had been laid out on her chair. But Hadrianna insisted she looked like an upstanding magistrate of Tevinter. Her back was starting to hurt in the oak chairs. But she remained upright. Denarius nodded at her from his place directly across the table. Things were cheerier than the night before. The curtains were pulled back, letting light into any place there could be. Lights were hung, vibrant flowers glowing around them. Everything was just…brighter.

"Now I must say so, Serah, did you enjoy our little Fenris? Isn't he a prize? Oh please tell me of your evening!" The woman hurriedly pushed her stringy black hair from her face. Hawke frowned.

"I have to say, I did not see a point in it." Hawke shook her head. "No, not that he was useless in any way. Just unneeded."

"Why my dear, if Fenris displeased you so I should give you Orana." Denarius chuckled. "By comparison, Fenris would seem premium. But none the less, she is scheduled for a show tonight. Perhaps this chance to serve you will prove her worth."

"Show?" Hawke glanced around, as if there were an audience. What possible shows did they have in Tevinter?

"Oh! You don't know!" Hadrianna clapped excitedly. "I'd be more than happy to demonstrate for you. May I?" She looked at Denarius pleadingly. He nodded, and Hadrianna sprung from her chair. The heavy oak made dragging noises as it was suddenly pushed back. Without a word, she ran from the room. Hawke shuddered, her smile was creepy.

"Remind me, I am no mage, why am I here?" She changed the topic, hoping for more information than she had had the previous evening. Denarius raised a metal mug to his lips, taking a lengthy sip before putting it down. The mug, Hawke noticed, had a faint blue glow tinged in it. Lyrium.

"Ah, yes, to the point then." He licked his lips, folding his hands together and leaning on the table. "I am old. I want to live forever, and the work I have done I do not wish to be destroyed." A long sigh escaped his lips. Very dramatic, Hawke noted. "Hadrianna is not one I would trust my secrets to. I dare to say she is even spiteful of you. Some Ferelden woman taking her place, I assume that's her thinking."

"You are serious about the immortality thing?" Hawke raised an eyebrow in surprise. Denarius nodded, pride in his eyes.

"Deadly."

Hadrianna rushed into the room. Behind her trailed a boy no more than a decade past his birth. He was human, dark, and very skinny. His hair hung over his eyes, his clothing ratty and worn. He seemed to hide behind his hair, as if not seeing them would protect him. Hadrianna ushered him in front of the grand table, very clearly visible to Hawke. Nodding, Hadrianna took a small prick from her robe. The boy rolled up his sleeve, exposing his ashen flesh. His skin clung to his bone, Hawke wondered if he had ever been full in his life. Without warning, she jabbed the prick into the crook of his arm, yanking it free immediately. To his credit, the boy did not flinch. A trail of blackish blood dripped down in a thin stream.

Hawke stared in awe.

"This is our Show, dear Champion. Though, he was behind Orana in the line-up, I do not think you will be disappointed." Hadrianna laughed. Hawke's awe turned to confusion. Then as Hadrianna pulled a small pinch of raw Lyrium from her robe, her confusion turned to horror.

"What are you going to do with that?" Hawke rose, her hands balled into fists. "Is this some sort of blood magic?"

Hadrianna stared at her, mouth agape. "….Yes, Champion. You say that as though you disapprove?"

"Of course I do!" Hawke's hand swiped across the table, letting the empty plates and mugs clatter to the floor. Denarius watched her in slight amusement. "How dare you use it on a child, you Witch!" Hawke shoved back her chair and marched to her. The mage looked from her to Denarius, who merely smiled at the both of them. Hawke grabbed a fistful of Hadrianna's robe, pulling the woman close to her face. "What kind of _Abomination_ gets you off, eh? What sort of deals does it take to sign your life away?"

Denarius rose, clapping his hands steadily. "Very good, Champion. Excellent, in fact." He turned his nose up at the boy, wide eyed in shock and fear. Flicking a wrist at him, the boy bowed his head once and ran off. Hadrianna squirmed out of Hawke's grip, stumbling a few steps backwards.

"You Ferelden _bitch!_" She shrieked. "How _dare_ you lay your filthy hands on me!" Her palms light up with flames, but a look from her master quelled them. "Denarius you cannot still want _her._"

"Take a seat everyone, we have much to discuss. And I believe our food is ready." As if on his cue, Fenris and an elven woman entered through a service door. Fenris held a shiny tray with dazzling tarts stacked high upon each other. His face a mask, no emotion or eye contact. The drops of blood on the floor, however, made the elven woman tear up. But she did her best to carry the fruits and wine. Hadrianna walked back to her seat, her eyes narrowed at Hawke. She brushed shoulders with the elven woman, who nearly dropped her trays. Fenris steadied her before she lost balance.

"I have lost my appetite," Hawke snapped, refusing to be ordered. "In fact, I think it best I leave." She turned to go, but two strong, sharp hands grabbed her arms. She wiped her head around to see Fenris holding her still. His face blank, as if the very life had been sucked from him. The tarts he had been carrying were placed on the table. _When had he…?_

Denarius was shaking his head. "That's a shame, my dear Champion. I do think you will reconsider." He flashed a smile at her. Hadrianna looked over her shoulder, a cruel sneer across her face. She reminded Hawke of Carver, when she had done something wrong and he had ran to their mother. That was the face Carver wore whenever she was scolded. "Fenris, take our lady up to her room. Take Orana with you, I do believe I promised our Champion extra care." He laughed, the elf woman visible shook as she set down her burdens. "Lock her in. Stay, and do not allow her to leave." He flicked his wrist and Fenris began to push her. She fought to gain her arms at least, but his grip was like iron.

"Denarius! Denarius I demand you release me! Fenris, stop!" She thrashed, but he was unyielding. Eventually she lost sight of the dining room. Fenris continued to push her, but his low voice murmured into her ear.

"If you do not fight, I will let you go."

She said nothing. His grip weakened, but he gently guided her up the stairs. Orana trailed behind them, quietly sniffling. The walk to her room was silent for a long while.

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Fenris shoved the door open, gesturing for Hawke and Orana to enter. When Hawke hesitated, Fenris shoved her. The door shut behind her with a sharp _thud._ Fenris sat in front of it, making no move to allow it to be opened.

"…please don't kill me," the girl's tiny voice pleaded. Hawke glanced over to find Orana on her knees, begging her. Hawke was mortified. She knelt too, and took the woman's hands in hers.

"I would never harm you, ever. Are you a prisoner? Have you been hurt?" Hawke's gentle voice did not lessen the girl's fear. She tried again. "What is your name?"

"Orana," she choked out. "Please, Serah, I will cook for you. I will clean. I can play the lute, too!" her shoulder's shook, and Hawke noticed how thin she was. She shook her head, looking again at Fenris.

"Can't we get her some food?" She said, her voice almost a sigh.

"You have been thrown into a room against your will, without breakfast even, and your first priority is to feed a slave?" Fenris cocked his head at her. "That is a cheap ploy."

"No ploy," Hawke rose, looking around the room for something that might have food. "Go if you must, I will stay. Just please, she needs to eat. When was the last you ate, Orana?"

The woman said nothing, she only sobbed. Hawke rose to her feet again, her boots stomping on the velvet carpet. She marched to Fenris, expecting he move. When he did not, she grabbed the handle of the door. His hand lashed out and caught her. Her blue eye's stared into his, and she could see he was determined. But so was she. Her foot lashed at him, and he ducked away. She swung her freed hand toward him. Surprised, he leaned back, avoiding the blow. But she dropped, sweeping her leg at his. The hit connected, and he went down. She grabbed for the door again, swinging it open with all of her might.

Hadrianna stood in the doorway, smirk on her face.

"I've been instructed to give you a message, Champion." Her voice purred, like a cat satisfied with its kill. "Its from our Master, who you've behaved so rudely in front of. You are to stay, in this very room, until you have calmed yourself. Violent outburst are not tolerated." Her smirk widened into a smile at that. "Your slave is _Orana_, and should she be unsatisfactory… Well, you won't be a show stopper. Fenris," she nodded at the elf on the floor. "Is to stay. He will be with you until you are ready for your reply to Denarius. None of you are to be fed." Her face leaned towards Hawke, smug. Hawke lashed a fist out, only to reel back in pain. A shield had been placed over the entrance. It shimmered from the impact, then settled once again. "Please, do _enjoy_ your time here, Champion." And with that, Hadrianna walked off, her laughter bounced off the halls.

"You witch!" Hawke called after her, banging her fists on the barrier. "You _bloody witch!_"

Angry, she stared at Fenris.

"Why do you listen to them? Why am I imprisoned?" She barked at him. He stayed on the ground, looking around the room. Candles had been lit, but no fire. Well, it wasn't cold enough for a fire. It was bright enough, he supposed.

"You were not meant to be." Was his simple answer.

"What was I _meant_ for?" she spat.

"You were meant to-to help our Master," Orana said shakily.

Hawke stormed over to the woman. Fenris shot up, catching her in strides. He stood firmly between them, eyes narrowed at the Champion. Hawke ignored him, craning her neck to look at the meek elf. Orana stared into her hands, which were trying to rub out the flour.

"They were going to cut open a child. Or worse. Mages cannot be trusted." Hawke spat to the side. "Your _master_ sacrifices you for entertainment. Why do you all allow it!"

"Mages? Like your sister?" Orana spoke, her voice stronger. "You killed her because she had a gift of magic, didn't you?"

Hawke froze.

"It's true then, isn't it?" Orana's voice rose. "Master! Master please let me serve someone else!" Orana ran to the door. Her foot caught on the rug, sending her down. Fenris moved to catch, but Hawke caught her instead. Gently, she helped her stand. Orana's wild eyes darted around, looking for some way to escape from Hawke. Hawke helped her sit on the arm chair. Slowly, she drew her red hilted dagger from her belt. Fenris watched carefully as she handed the hilt to Orana.

"Please, Orana. If you ever want to hear the truth, ask _me._ If you ever think your life is in danger, use this." Hawke nodded at her as she took the blade. She held it so tightly to her chest, Hawke wondered if she had ever owned anything in her life. Fenris wondered what good Orana could possibly do with a weapon, but decided Hawke was not a threat. Yet.

"I will be back momentarily." Fenris turned to the door. Hawke opened her mouth, but shut it as he lit up. A light blue light filled the room, and Hawke found it hard to look at his skin. He fazed through the barrier as if it were never there. He never turned around; he just kept walking out of view. Orana was left alone with Hawke.

"…Serah…if I may…" Orana swallowed. "What did happen?"

Smiling, Hawke sat across from her.

"You are the first person to ever ask me that, Orana. Thank you." Taking a deep breath, Hawke told her story. The story of the blight. The story of the Deep Roads. The story of the Qun, and the Arishok. The story of her friends, family, and home being taken twice. Hawke told Orana every detail, from how Meredith's hair shown like gold to how _tired_ she had been during the war. All while she talked, her blue eyes begged this elven slave to look at her and see her. Look at her, and not see a monster. Look, and see she was only one woman.

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Fenris walked to Denarius's study. He had tucked away two oranges under his shoulder pads, and a few were tucked inside his tunic, against his chest. Not the cleanest place, but they'd be peeled, so it did not matter if some grime was on them. Hadrianna was speaking, so Fenris took great care not to be seen. He was not meant to leave the room yet. Denarius said something that made Hadrianna scoff. Other slaves roamed the mansion, cleaning and scrubbing and trying to generally be of some use. None of them raised their heads when Fenris came past. Which was just as well, he did not want to be noticed.

A child bumped into him. He looked up at Fenris; his dark, shaggy hair almost completely covered his eyes. He made no sound, just stared. His arm had a dirty rag tied around it. Fenris raised his eyebrows at him; this slave was new.

"Sir, when can I go home?" The little boy's voice sounded dry and tired. Fenris rested a hand on his shoulder, bending his knees to make eye contact with the boy. "I don't like to be cut." The boy looked no more than a child, ripped from their mother. Now that he saw his face, Fenris realized he _had_ seen this child before. He was meant to be used for blood magic. Denarius wanted to see if the blood of the young could sustain life for the old. The fact he wasn't used yet…

"This is your home." Fenris patted him, before rising. He began to walk away. He needed to hurry back before he was noticed. With luck, the boy would forget him. As if he had never spoken, the lad turned back to his cleaning.

"Well, she won't last long without food. I expect her to change her mind soon." Denarius's voice sounded closer. "Hadrianna, remember who she is. She is not yet used to Tevinter. But it does not matter, we don't need her to accept it. We simply need her."

"But how long must we wait?" Their footsteps were getting closer. Fenris leaned against the wall, pressing his body as close as he could. They were walking to another room. As long as he stayed quiet, they shouldn't notice him.

"Honestly it is a gift she came to us of her own will. Everything should be prepared in a month's time." There was more, but as soon as they were out of sight, Fenris dashed upstairs. Hawke's words came to him, _Why don't you kill him_? How could he? And how could she even say such taboo words? Eventually, she will be like him. His body lit up, the Lyrium coursing through him. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good. Fazing like this made him feel sick. But he walked through the barrier, Hawke and Orana seeming to have finished whatever they were talking about.

Orana looked at him, her eyes wet once again.

"Serah Hawke…she…" she wiped her eyes. Hawke smiled, shaking her head. Orana looked at her, as if she were an abandoned Mabari. "Serah, please."

"Orana, let it go. It happened so long ago, it honestly doesn't bother me what people think." Her smile was genuine. But Fenris knew better. He knew it _did _bother her. But he supposed it didn't matter. He unstrapped his armor. Orana looked away, blushing. But he took the two oranges from his shoulders and set them on the table. He reached inside his black tunic, grabbing the fruit he had stored away there. This was completely foolish, it was true. But he didn't want Orana to starve. He placed each piece as if it were gold on the table, holding onto one for himself. He expected Hawke to reach for it, but she did not move.

"Serah, you aren't meant to be fed. Not until the master says you can," Orana said this, but she did not sound pleased. In fact, she sounded almost bitter. Hawke just nodded.

"Orana, eat." Fenris dug his talons into the skin. He ripped it apart, biting into the fruit's flesh. Juice ran down his chin. Orana looked at the pile timidly, a low growl escaping her stomach. Her cheeks were so thin, her cheek bones very clearly defined. But she did not reach for one. Fenris finished the rest of his in a few bites, tossing the peel into the unlit fireplace. Once she had eaten, he would burn the skins to hide their guilt. Guilt, as if wanting to eat was a crime.

"What is your plan? When will you become submissive?" Fenris stared at the black haired woman. She blinked at him, her eyes taking him in. Again, he felt transparent in front of her gaze.

"You mean, accept blood magic."

"Do not act as if you have never been tempted."

"My sister and father were both magi. I didn't receive their _gift_." She stood, walking to her bed. Under the mattress, she reached and pulled out both daggers. They were different from the ones Fenris had seen on her back the night before. Where had she been keeping these? "I have felt the pull of a demon, once. My friends have as well." She stared at herself in the reflection of the blade. "I could say no. They couldn't." She tossed the weapons on top of her bed. Fenris averted his eyes as she slipped behind the screen. Orana jumped up to assist. The silken robe was thrown over the screen, her armor pulled behind it. _Dressing for a fight?_

"You will need to eventually. The food in here now is likely the last you'll see for a long while." She noted he did not offer any to her. "You will accept it, or you will die."

"Fenris!" Orana cried out from behind the screen. Evidently Hawke had not turned away her service. "We cannot let her starve! Master would be understanding, please Mistress, please just apologize. Master is not a bad man."

"Maybe," Hawke agreed. "But I'm very opinionated."

Fenris reached down to take another fruit. Stripping it bare, he sunk his teeth in. A cut on his lip burned from the juice. Strange, he had not remembered biting his lip. This woman's attitude was a façade. No sane being would turn down the chance to become a magistrate.

"I heard master say he wants you as his heir," Orana babbled. "That means one day we will all work for you. Please," her voice was sad. "I would like it for you to be our Master."

Hawke stepped out from behind the screen. Her clothing was a patchwork of leather and metal. Everything was form fitting, as if this had been custom made. Her boots, now dry, made not so much as a scuffing noise as she approached Fenris. Orana trailed behind her with her cloak. Fenris wasn't sure where she thought she was going, the barrier was something only he could get through. The weapons from her bed had at some point been slipped into the straps at her sides. On her back were the long, delicate looking daggers he had seen the night before. She stood in front of him, waiting.

"Why would Denarius want you?" He spat. It wasn't what he had wanted to say, but it was a question on his mind. "You're no mage, you cannot use the edge of blood magic to surpass anyone in this city. Why did you even come here?"

"I can't take everyone here with me," she spoke as if he hadn't. "But I will free this city. Either of you, come with me. I can protect you." She smiled back at Orana as she draped the cloak around her.

"Protect us? I will be shocked if you left this room, _Serah_." Orana looked between them, almost panicked. As if they would start trading blows again.

"You asked why I came here," Hawke brushed past him to the tapestry of the man and boy holding hands. The hole her dagger had made still lingered. She pushed her finger through it. When she pulled it back, a fine blue dust came with her. "I came to find a friend." She walked to the door way, still humming with magic. She traced her finger in an X motion, and the shield was dispelled almost instantly. Before Fenris could stare in awe, it shot back up, humming with even more power and light. But Hawke did not look troubled, though Orana looked as if she might faint.

"_Magic_," Fenris accused.

"Lyrium powder," Hawke corrected. She turned back, her eyes no longer piercing him with their stare. She held out her hands, as if she were expecting them to take it. But her eyes were not expecting, they were pleading. "I'm leaving. Will you both come with me?"

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**That's all for chapter two. Any comments about improving, or situations you'd like to see, I'd love to see. I take every one of them to heart!**

**For the next chapter, I leave this outcome to you. Comment whether or not you think they should go with her. Or maybe just one decides to. Or she leaves without them. It's up to you!**


	3. No

**I've read your comments and wow! Thank you so much for taking the time to leave them! After this chapter, though, I realized I need a proof reader. Grammatical errors and spelling and that kind of thing. If any of you are interested, send me a PM and let's talk! **

**But again, thank you for your comments. I will reply to them as soon as I can.**

**Enjoy!**

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"Leave? My Lady Hawke you can't just…leave," Orana stared, her mouth open a bit. "Where will you go? The entire magistrate will be looking for you!"

"Go with you?" Fenris balked. "You've been here a day, and since you haven't stopped spouting such nonsense."

Hawke shook her head sadly. She drew up her cloak, pulling the hood over her head. She took a vial from a pouch inside the fabric. It was very small, and the liquid looked like water. She uncorked it, bringing it to her lips. Before it touched, however, she looked at Fenris. The cowl casted shadows over her face, but her eyes were still very apparent. "I will help this city. I hope you'll both come with me, one day."

Fenris took a step toward her, anger rising on his face. "Do not make such declarations! If Denarius orders me to kill you, you will die. If he orders me to bring you back, I will. Do not speak as if we are friends!"

She cocked her head at him, a smirk stretched across her face. "Denarius ordered you not to let me leave, but you're letting me go." Fenris crossed his arms over his chest, but she had a point. Why didn't he knock this woman out? Denarius would be furious when he discovered her absence. He would even take it out on Orana. He glanced at her, to see her reaction to all this.

"Messer, would you really? But-but we would have no work, no food. We need the magistrate. We would die without it!" Orana rushed to Hawke, as if to take away the vial. Instead she held out the knife Hawke had given her. "If you need to escape, I'll hold Fenris back, but Messer don't destroy this city. I beg of you." Fenris couldn't help but smile a little. This woman was skin wrapped around bone. If he wanted to fight her, he might accidently kill her. Hawke held up her hand, again shaking her head.

"Keep it Orana. Would _you _come with me? It isn't safe for you here." Worry etched itself on Hawke face. It was as if it physically pained her not to take Orana with her. Orana herself seemed at a loss of what to do. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, trying and failing to find the words.

"…could we bring my papa?"

"Oh, yes! Take every slave in the city with you!" Fenris threw his arms up in exasperation. "Yes, let's all run off with this Ferelden woman. _That_ can't possibly have repercussions." But Hawke didn't take note of his outburst. Instead, she took Orana's hand.

"Yes, Orana. Where is he? I'll get him. Drink this and make no noise. I'll open the barrier for you. Get out of this house. I will get your papa and find you. But you need to leave, this might get messy."

"She won't last a minute outside this house. Where do you think she will go?"

"Orana, there is a farmhouse outside the city. It's a walk, but nothing you can't handle. Show the woman there that dagger. Can you do that Orana?" Hawke looked into her eyes, as if her own will could be transferred that way. Orana closed her eyes and nodded dumbly.

"You'll get papa?" Her voice sounded tiny, as if the magnitude of what Hawke was offering had finally hit her. "He's in the kitchens. The Master loves his soup. Papa and I are the only elves that work there, the rest are humans. Will you really protect us Serah?"

Hawke nodded. A muscle in Fenris's jaw twitched. Orana drank the fluid, a longer task than imagined. It ran down like Elfroot syrup. Orana's skin shimmered, and Fenris stared in both awe and disgust. He could see through her, but the other side looked warped. If anyone were looking for her, she would be easy to spot. But…if they weren't looking, she would be invisible. Hawke wasted no time. She quickly drew the X symbol on the barrier, dispelling it for a moment. Orana took a second before she moved, so Fenris put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her. Just as she stumbled across to the other side, the bright shield closed and hummed again. Hawke shooed her, time was of the essence. She took a moment to look at Fenris though.

"If Denarius asked you to kill me, would you really?"

"Yes." His answer escaped his lips before he thought about it. But Hawke didn't seem to mind. Instead, her face became that arrogant mask it had been when she had first arrived. She spoke to him as she had with Denarius, her nose slightly upturned.

"Then when we meet again, should I assume you my enemy?"

He didn't know why he wanted to smile. This woman was unlike any he had ever met. She bowed to no one, accepted no charity. Her opinions may as well have been set in stone. Orana would have a better chance of survival with her. Here, she was destined to die. But out of the city, with the Champion of Kirkwall protecting her? He had to admit… it was a tempting offer for himself. But to admire a fool is one thing, to follow one is another. He kept his face a scowl and said nothing. Hawke didn't look like she was actually expecting an answer though.

"Fenris, if you ever change your mind, if you ever want freedom, my offer stands for you as well." She turned her head and drew an X on the barrier. It shimmered and faded, and she rushed through. The last he saw of her was her black cloak blending with the hall like a shadow. _That woman is the embodiment of evil, _he thought.

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Hawke had _sounded_ sure. But honestly she had no idea where to go to find this kitchen elf. The dining room had been down the stairs, so the kitchen must be too. She had given that potion to Orana, but the one she had left wasn't meant for her. If she found this elf, he must drink it. And there was the stony elf she had just turned her back on. She smiled; he had all but outright called her his enemy, yet here she was roaming a mansion when she should be locked up.

Noise was everywhere. The sound of furniture moving and hushed whispers seemed to echo down the hallways. Hawke tried not to notice the hunched beings in the corner, picking up dust by hand. Instead, she tried to recall the room Orana and Fenris had come through to get to the dining area. It had been a hallway, or a doorway maybe? She kept her head low, glancing around the stairs as she went down them. None of the other slaves took notice of her. Or if they had, they didn't know she wasn't to be out of her room. Both a blessing then. At the foot of the stairs, she looked around. The doorway that led out of the mansion was slightly ajar. Orana must have made it through. There was laughter somewhere. Hawke tip toed, pressing her back as close to the wall as she could. A little dark haired boy was scrubbing the floor. With a closer look, she saw he was the same boy Hadrianna had tried to slay earlier. The same marked for death.

_Oh Blood and Spite!_

Her heart tugged at her. She wanted to wrap this boy in her cloak and tell him to run out, to meet Orana and come with her. But it was challenging enough to get Orana's pap. Could she risk two lives for the sake of one? The boy must have noticed her presence. He looked up, his dark hair covering his eyes once again. He opened his mouth.

"When can I go home?"

That broke her. She knelt down, her knees in the soapy water that was being shoved across the floor. Dirt wouldn't kill her. She kept her voice low.

"What is your name, child?"

"Marc. Master said when he was done with me I could go home." He turned his head, scrubbing harder. As if the only thing between him and his mother was this dirt. Hawke bit the inside of her cheek.

"Where is the kitchen?"

The boy did not turn, instead he raised his arm and pointed behind him. "Through the dining hall. Slaves use the side entrance." Hawke put her hand on his head, he flinched. She took it back, slowly as not to startle him. "I'll take you home. Let me get a friend first."

She rose to her feet and moved quickly, tears stinging her eyes. If there were more children like Marc? More women like Orana? Andraste's holy arse, what was _wrong_ with this city? She passed an open door, stopping before crossing the entrance. Voices from inside were not slaves. There was rage in her blood. Her eyes narrowed as she reached for a blade.

"I should have Keith draw me a bath."

"Hadrianna that is your third one."

"I like to smell like those sweet cakes. Have Orana stop buying those useless scentless ones."

"I doubt Orana will last much longer. See if there is a lute player at the next action. No more than twelve shillings this time!"

Hawke risked a glance. The two of them were at a desk, hunched over a stack of papers. Denarius had a fine blue dust piled on his scales. He dusted them into his palm and let them drift into a rather large crate. _Lyrium?_

No time. She was past the door in strides, not looking back. They continued talking as she found the dining room. With a quick glance, she stepped in. Horror took her. Her blood ran cold, her skin ice. She wanted to run from this room, she tasted vomit in the back of her throat.

There was an elf cut open, his organs in trays around the dining table. The man had graying hair, but his eyes looked lifeless. He had been pointing to the door before he died. Blood trickled down his arm, dripping into a puddle on the floor. He had been cut from his belly, but there were gashes in his legs as well as stitches. Someone had been healing him to break him again. Clothing was draped over the chairs, including a kitchen smock.

"Oh dear, we haven't cleaned yet."

Dagger still in hand, she turned to face Denarius. His hand on his hip, his other pointed at her. The smile on his face was eerily cheerful. His finger flexed toward him, and to Hawke's shock, her body followed. He flicked his finger back, and she flew. Her back hit the organ trays, knocking her blade from her hand. Her head hit the table with a crack. Black crept into her vision, but she saw behind Denarius was a very lanky, white haired figure. Blood dripped into her eyes, and then there was nothing.

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Orana hurried through the streets. Everyone was abuzz with news of Hawke's arrival. Slaves traded gossip and Magistrates were green with envy. None of these people knew who Hawke was. They only knew the terrible tales of the Champion. Orana heard things from her brutality to her utter ruthlessness. Mere hours before, and Orana would believe this. She would have received pitying looks from the others and sneers from their masters. Her dagger clutched tightly to her chest, she ran for the city gates. Once or twice she bumped into someone, but as long as she kept moving no one would see her. Still, she felt faint.

The gates were open. She wasted not a moment, but as she passed through she felt strange. There were shouts from behind her.

"Oi, did she show her papers?" a guard's voice rang across to the other. Looking down, she saw herself shimmering back into color. She ran faster.

Oh no.

"Oi wrench! Who do you belong to?" the other's voice called out, but it was farther. An arrow whistled past her ear. "Stop ya damned bitch!"

She couldn't. Hawke was getting her papa, she couldn't let her down. Her eyes were wet and her feet hurt, but she ran. If the Mistress could go through that, she could do this simple thing. A few more arrows wisped past her, one going through her skirt. Another grazed her waist. She was surprised, but continued.

The guards must have decided the arrows were more valuable that she was. And there was a little farmhouse coming into view. This must be where she was to meet the woman. But as she drew closer, her doubt grew stronger. This couldn't be right. The place was in shambles. The windows were broken and boarded up on the inside. Shingles on the roof looked thin as paper. Orana slowed her movement. This couldn't be right. Had she gone the wrong way? Or maybe Hawke had been mistaken? The cut on her leg stung. She took a few hesitant steps, her heart hammered in her chest. Her grip on the knife tightened. No movement from inside the home.

She took a step back and nearly jumped out of her skin. She had bumped into something hard and cold. Turning, a guard stood, weapons drawn. Orana could have wailed. When had she been followed? She let the Champion down.

"Speak quickly, and release your weapon." Her face was stern and freckled. Her emerald eyes narrowed at Orana. A stray strand of fiery red hair drifted to the side of her face. Orana held out the knife but did not drop it. She could not give it up. The woman's face looked astonished. "Maker..." she breathed, sheathing her sword. "Who sent you? Never mind, come." She walked past Orana, opening the door behind her. It creaked open unwillingly, but Orana doubted anything could refuse the guards woman.

She trailed behind her, a firm hold on Hawke's blade. Orana had not been mistaken, this is where Hawke had sent her. The inside was not as terrible as the outside, it had chairs and beds and everything slaves did not. The woman closed and bolted the door behind her, then set her shield against it. It landed with a heavy thud, and she could only wonder how strong the Lady's friend was. She sat at the stool by the table, gesturing for Orana to as well.

"Deep breath. You ran the entire way here love; rest a moment." She leaned on her elbows, regarding Orana. "It usually takes a good quarter day to come from the city to here; you must have run like a demon was at your heels. Tell me, how is she?"

Orana choked out a sob. Fat tears streamed down her face. "Mistress went to find my Papa. Master will be furious."

The woman ran a gloved hand through her hair, letting out a long sigh. "We _just_ got here, Hawke." She let her hand fall, collecting herself again. "I am Aveline Vallen." She stuck out her arm, Orana stared. Confused, she copied the gesture, flinching when Aveline's hand grasped her forearm tightly. "Tell me what happened. From the beginning."

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**Forgive the short chapter! Comments and suggestions are always welcome. (I **_**love**_** when you tell me I'm making someone OOC, I get caught up in the story I forget the characters. Thank you!)**


	4. Change

**I own nothing related to Bioware or its games. Enjoy**

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Fenris tightened the chain cuff around her arms. They were tight, but he had to be sure there was no possible way for the rouge to slip her delicate hands through. If she escaped again Denarius would be… well, cruel was an understatement. Her temple had dried blood crusted, matting down parts of her hair. The dungeon of Denarius's mansion was no less than that. It was damp, no light came through save the open door. A wooden table was stained dark with layers and layers of dried blood, aged into the very material. Metal pans riddled with rust were under it, no double collecting whatever fluids happened to spill from the table. Tools lined the wall. Fenris tried not to remember their purpose. Hawke groaned, rolling her head to the side. Fenris saw her eyes flicker open. She was crumbled on the ground in a pathetic crouch. Her arms chained behind her, those chains attached to the wall. An iron collar was around her neck, a chain on the back connected to her iron cuffed wrists. It was not meant for comfort. She blinked.

"…Fenris?" her voice croaked. He kept his face a mask. It was him who got her here. He had been the one sending the signal to Denarius.

"Fenris," she said a bit firmly, as if confirming her suspicions. "What happened?"

"You are chained." Fenris stepped back, preparing to leave before Denarius came. Hawke struggled to move. Her legs were not bound, but the only comfortable position to be in would be on her knees. The way Denarius liked his toys.

"Orana!" She looked frantically. "She isn't chained? I'll kill him!" the chains jerked violently from her pull. Fenris raised his eyebrows at her.

"…she is not here. Hadrianna is combing the city looking for her." A sneer slipped on his face. "She isn't _wanted_, but it's embarrassing to have property run away." Hawke laughed. He wiped his face back into the mask.

"She left, good, good." Hawke swept her legs from under her. They spread awkwardly to her sides. It couldn't be comfortable, but Fenris suspected this woman had no intention of kneeling to her captors. He turned to leave, but paused.

"What is Orana to you?" he asked this carefully.

Hawke closed her eyes, as if the words pained her to pronounce. "She asked for my help. I will do everything I can for her."

"That was her father you saw."

Hawke winced, as if Fenris had accused her.

Fenris nodded at this, he felt her regret. Sighing, he moved next to her, squatting to her level. He pulled an orange from his armor, peeling it quickly. Hawke stared in astonishment. He paid no attention. Quickly, he tore a piece of the exposed fruit and held it to her cracked lips, waiting. She looked at him defiantly. But there was something begging in his face, some emotion of pain and regret that confused her. Hawke slowly opened her mouth, surprised. Fenris placed it as if setting a jewel. When her lips wrapped around, he took his hand away. He stood, tucking the rest back into his breastplate. Hawke smiled sadly as she chewed, realizing how hungry she was. Fenris looked at her, but she couldn't read his eyes.

"I thought I couldn't trust you."

"You can't."

He walked toward the door. Rickety wooden steps led up to it, but as Fenris climbed them no noise was made. Hawke stared at his retreating back. It was the last thing she saw as the door shut, leaving her in darkness.

Fenris let out a slow breath. The smell of citrus felt overpowering, but perhaps his conscience was magnifying it. She couldn't know that it would be the last thing she may taste. But he disobeyed his Master by giving even that to her. He looked at his clawed fingers, the gantlets a dark grey metal, barely showing his own reflection. He did that as thanks for Orana, that was all. It was nothing more than a taste, exactly what she planted in Orana's head.

A taste of hope.

It wasn't as if _he _owed her anything. She was lucky he gave Orana enough time before alerting Denarius. After Hawke had left the room, he simply phased through the barrier after hiding the fruit. Hawke had taken the stairs, of course. She wouldn't know of the servant routes. She didn't have an inkling Fenris was mere moments from Denarius. It took an open door and a flight of wooden stairs, and he was in his study. He had been weighing the Lyrium dust he had created. Denarius liked to know his exact value, more to flaunt. Hadrianna had looked at him like a cat would her next meal, but Fenris had done his best to never meet her gaze. The fact he was in the room with the woman was creepy enough. "The champion is going to the kitchens," he had said. Denarius had only laughed.

He hadn't known Orana's father was dead. He hadn't known Orana had been orphaned before Hawke's promise. If he had…

Well, Orana would be waiting in that house. _If_ she got out of the city as easily as Hawke had made it sound. Days would pass with no word of her pap or the Champion. He wondered when she would give up. Also, if she was foolish enough to try to return, what Hadrianna would do to her? It made him shudder.

He stopped walking. In the hall, the small dark boy was standing, as if he planned to block the way.

"…she said I could go home," he frowned at Fenris, as if _he_ had locked the Champion up. Well…he had. Cursing, he walked to the child. "My name is Marc. She said she'd take me home."

"You are not going home. She lied." Fenris spat. Damned woman, did she _really_ plan on saving three slaves in an afternoon? Exactly who did she think she was, Andraste?

"No. Where is she? I want to go home." The boy brushed his hair out of his eyes, and Fenris saw clearly his face. His eyes were dark, with long lashes for a child. A long, dark, ugly scar twisted itself across his forehead, coming down on his left eyelid. Hair fell over it again. Marc looked Fenris up and down before looking behind the elf. His eyes rested on the door Fenris had come through. Fenris sneered, grabbing him roughly by the arm.

This child was like Orana, but despite Hawke's good intentions, she cannot save _every slave_ in Tevinter. Marc did not fight him. He allowed himself to be pulled down the hall, toward the dining room. There were floors he needed to scrub there anyway. Blood was hard to get out.

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"I see," Aveline said, looking frustrated. "Damned woman. We _just_ got here!" That was repeated often from the woman. Orana stared at the door, as if Hawke would burst in with her papa. "Orana, was it?" Orana flinched, turning back to Aveline. Aveline stood, pacing around the room as she thought aloud. "Orana, the woman who saved you- no, sent you here, what do you know of her?" Orana opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "No, never mind. Everyone knows of her. Bloody void, I'd almost rather have Isabela." The elf woman simply looked back at the door.

"…she said she would get my Papa," Orana spoke wistfully, as if it was the first time in her life she could ever rely on someone else.

"Right right, two elven slaves, two Kirkwallers, and a Mabari try to bring an uprising in the city. We sound like a bad joke." She let out another irritated huff. "We still haven't even found him. If he hears she's in the city, we'll have to start over. But… well, Hawke is right; we can't leave it like this… I don't know!" She cried out, holding her head with both hands. "How long does she think we can stay here?"

Orana panicked at this. "Mistress is leaving?"

Aveline turned, as if she forgot Orana had been there. "Well not the city, just here." She gestured to the house. "Staying here without paying is illegal." Confused, she simply nodded her head. But the Ferelden woman was not sated in her rant yet. A few more colorful words, but Aveline noticed Orana's rag of a dress. "What happened to your clothing?" Orana wrapped her arms around her, as if she could hide. This was all she had, these rags and a borrowed knife. It wasn't her fault, she had nothing else, nor the opportunity to bring anything. Everything happened so quickly… Aveline's look softened as she went to a wardrobe. Dust flew out as she pried the doors open. "Well you'll draw more attention looking like that. You're not a slave anymore, Orana. Don't ever put those filthy things on again." Aveline pulled out a worn dress. She flapped it a few times, beating the dust from it. It was a simple thing. Cotton, brown, and very modest. Orana looked down at herself, her leg still stinging a bit from the arrow. Aveline handed this brown dress to her, turning back to look at whatever else may be inside.

Orana clutched the dress as if it were a newborn. Her voice shook, but she tried with all her might to sound steady. "Thank you, Mistress Vallen."

Aveline raised her hand half heartedly, waving off her thanks. "They're abandoned clothes, don't thank me for what someone would waste." She dug around, but only found more dust and a few more dresses. None would provide good armor. So she left it. "There's more in here, if that doesn't fit." She turned around, catching Orana taking off her dress. Her back was turned, and faint scars decorated her sides and shoulders. Her leg looked cut, but not deeply. Aveline's mouth was set at a hard line. She could count Orana's ribs and make out every bone in her back as she pulled the new clothing over her head. Her bun was messy, but her face was elated. The sleeves came past her hands a bit, but Aveline cuffed them for her. The hem almost dragged to the floor. The bodice was neither tight nor loose, but the neckline was high. Orana felt her eyes sting with tears.

"…it's too big," she whispered.

"There were more, maybe one would be smaller-"

"No," She smiled. "No, please allow me to keep this." She spun, letting the too long skirt fan out. Never had Denarius or Hadrianna given clothing that had no holes or patches, and certainly no clothing that was big. The bare minimum was all they could hope for. Aveline smiled at her.

"Alright, but let me help you pin it up. Just so it fits now. You will grow into it love."

For the first time, Orana _owned_ something.

"Anything, Serah," Orana held out her arms eagerly. Aveline felt herself blush a little. She was used to being relied upon but…this elf woman was different. Everything seemed to mean so much to her than it would to anyone else. You picked a good one Hawke, she thought fondly. While she clumsily fixed her dress, she spoke.

"While Hawke plays at the Mansion, you and I are going into the city tomorrow. We'll mud up your hair, make it darker. Don't worry, no one will take you. But we will go to look for a companion of ours; he will be a very tricky man to locate. That's why I need your help, Orana. He does not know your face. If he sees you with me, he may stay long enough to talk."

"But, I just fled the city. I-I thought I'd never have to go back. I thought-" Aveline interrupted her.

"Love, if you can't then stay here. Hide. I can do it alone, it just would have been easier…" a long sigh. "Honestly, it'd be easier if Hawke were with us." Orana felt a pang of guilt. Hawke _would _be, but she was getting her papa… that had been hours ago. The setting sun showed dimply in the cracks of the boarded up windows. She hoped papa was alright. Until she saw him, she needed to have a story to make him proud.

"I'm at your service, Mistress Vallen."

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"It's dark," Hawke droned to no one. There was no light, no way of seeing. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut. She'd feel around, but her hands were bound. She couldn't move her neck easily, that was bound too. She contemplated, running her tongue along her lips, wishing she had another bite of that wonderful fruit. Well, she hated oranges, but right now they sounded like paradise.

And it was dark. Rather damp too. There was a drip somewhere, _tap. Tap. Tap._ That could get annoying if she thought about it. Her head kind of hurt. She wanted to touch her temple, to brush her hair out of her face, but again she couldn't. Well, she _shouldn't_. That elf had tied her tight, he obviously wasn't encouraging escape. She blew a strand of hair from her nose.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Well, she thought, what were they going to do to her? She couldn't sleep like this. She couldn't move. Was she to die of boredom? _Tap._ And why exactly had this happened? Because, she remembered, she didn't want Marc to die. Or worse. Marc. Why did that name bring a sense of urgency? Marc, Marc… the child, the dark skinned child with black hair. That child asked her if he could go home. She promised him. Dammed it all, she _promised _him!

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Denarius! Witch!" She called and regretted it. Her voice felt raw, as if she hadn't had a drink in a fortnight. _Tap. Tap. _But she ignored it. "You cowards. Fenris! Is this what you're content with?" _Tap. Tap. Tap._ "You could change it, you could change this city." She whispered this to herself. No one was coming. Why would they? _Tap. _Magic could not contain her, but they assumed iron would. Well… it was doing a fairly good job of it. Her fingers felt around the lock, but it was too tight to bend her hand that close.

_Tap. Tap._

She groaned.

_Tap._

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Fenris let Marc go, he scampered to the floor and took off his shirt. Using it as a rag, he began rubbing repeatedly over the stone where the blood dripped. The man was still on the table. Hadrianna loved her projects, but not cleaning them up. Fenris tried not to think about him as he looked around. In a tray were a pair of grey eyes, cords still clinging to the balls. Blood was pooled around them. The trays were scattered, each containing something from the man who had made a fantastic chicken and deep mushroom soup. He had seasoned it with elf root, made sure the meat was tender… Now his heart lay in a cold metal tray for the world to see. His only gratitude was that Orana would never see this. His mouth was still open with the help of two pieces of metal. His tongue had been cut from him. His eyes were empty sockets. Fenris knew he should look away, but this was different. Any other time he would simply dispose of the body.

But the Champion had sworn to save this one.

Liar, he thought bitterly.

Marc continued to scrub.

"My little Fenris," Denarius walked in slowly, as if his entering the room was something all should take gratefully. Marc froze. "I see you met me here exactly as I had asked. Carry these to the library, and do take care not to drop them." He shooed him off, and Fenris very reluctantly took the trays. "Oh I wish Hadrianna would hurry back with that elf. If Hadrianna is late I will do it without her." He eyed Marc, who wisely did not look up. "Move them in the circle would you? And send _someone_ to get that carcass out of here." He himself took the tray with the elf's heart. What he did with them, Fenris was glad he did not know.

He gathered the trays, balancing them on his arms and shoulders. Denarius nodded in approval and swept his robes grandly, showing off his power and rank as he exited the room as slowly as he had come in. Marc, as soon as Denarius's footsteps began to echo down the hall, jumped up and grabbed a tray. The blood nearly spilled onto the boy. A thick slab of meat was in the pool, Fenris tried not to place where it could've been before being cut. The boy stared at Fenris, daring him to take the gory mess away. He had not free hand to, and honestly, he could use the help. Sighing, he turned, careful not to spill anything. Let the boy do what he pleased then, he was going to die soon anyway.

The room Denarius spoke of what the room he preformed spells in. Among other things. He loved to keep his pleasures in once place. The room was grand enough to throw a party. There were no corners in it, the layout was a complete circle. Dust lined the floor in some strange pattern Fenris had never seen before. But he knew what to do. He tilted a single tray, the blood poured in a thin stream along the blue powder. As they touched, the powder turned an angry red, illuminating itself with the magic. Any circle in the pattern, Fenris placed an organ or slab of meat. As the trays emptied, he handed them to Marc, who carried them silently.

By the time he was done, the room was cast into a crimson red glow. In the middle of the room was a large, empty circle. But Fenris placed nothing in that. Denarius must have some use for it. He simply turned, but Marc spoke.

"I know what this is for," he whispered. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. His eyes looked vacant, as if this were some long forgotten memory. "I know why he wants that lady."

"You know nothing," Fenris snapped. It was better that way. It was better if they all dumbly obeyed the commands of their masters. Marc shut his mouth, but the look on his face was forlorn. He carried the stacked trays in his arms and they left the room, careful not to step on the glowing red lines. Whatever Denarius had planned, it was of no concern of his. He could only hope it went awry and slaughtered the pig. The clatter was the only noise he could hear.

"The guards said they killed her!" he heard Hadrianna's shrill voice bounce off the wall. He loved that tone. She was fearful. She must not have found Orana, for her voice held the tiniest quiver of panic. Denarius must not have been pleased one of _his_ slaves made it out of his home and out into the world. Oh the embarrassment, if the magistrate found out… He allowed himself a smirk. Marc muttered something under his breath.

"Where is the Lady?"

"Be silent."

They made their way to the servant's quarters. A joke of a name really. The only place worse than these tiny rooms was the actual dungeon. These rooms had a small stack of straw in a corner. There were usually three to five slaves a room, all fighting over who slept on it. He had one of these rooms to himself. A privilege for being a favored pet. Not that the other slaves envied him. None would want to be near him, regardless of space. Marc dumped the trays in his own room, shared with a few other boys. Just as well, there was no real place for them.

Fenris shut his door behind him. He was allowed sleep every three days, and he needed it. He laid out on his straw, his arms behind his head. But every time he shut his eyes, he saw a pair of blue ones staring back at him. When he turned his head, he swore he could hear her. A curse escaped his lips. The damned woman had been here three days. _Three_. And she slept all of the third day in the dungeon. A low growl rumbled from his throat. The damned woman. She spread her talk of freedom and rescue, and now she spent the last days of her life chained. Denarius had something planned. But damn him for even caring that much. A man was dissected not a day before his daughter's escape. That man cannot wonder at her happiness, cannot express his thanks to the Champion. That man died believing Orana had been given to a demon of a woman. He rose a hand in front of his face, staring at it. A normal, elven hand. Coated in talons and metal gloves. He was meant to be a soulless, killing dog. He was meant to be able to gouge out eyes at his Master's will. He was meant to listen and obey his Master's every whim, without fail. Without question. Many times he had been asked to break the bones of slaves who did not obey. Or even cut the fingers from slaves who stole food. Yet when she spoke his name she spoke never as a command, but as a person would another. She did not see him as a beast. Even as he left her in the dungeon to starve. Even when it was he who informed Denarius of her intentions. She didn't know it yet, but even her weapons belonged to Denarius now. She had absolutely nothing, yet she _spoke_ his name.

He shut his eyes tighter, only seeing her blue eyes stare into his soul once more. Why? Why did he feel wretched about her? She saved one fool girl's life. It was not as if she had done some great miracle.

He sat up, no chance of sleep could come. She had done _nothing._ Her being here has created countless problems for him and his fellow slaves. She was a killer. That 'Champion' was known for her cruelty. Tevinter was the perfect city for someone such as her. There was no reason she should have saved Orana, not a single reason she should ask his name when she knew it already. It should be no concern of hers about Marc's wish to return home. After being recaptured in Kirkwall, he had given in. Nothing in his life brought any hope, and sense of purpose other than what pleased his Masters.

But she had.

That damned woman.

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**It will be a while before I update this story. I cannot promise a date. I'm incredibly grateful for your time. Thank you, and please leave your honest review.**

**(They're pretty encouraging. I type faster when encouraged. *wink*)**


	5. Nature of the Beast

**I'm liking this story and I hope you are too!**

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_Tap. Tap._

Maker that was irritating.

_Tap._

She groaned inwardly. Her legs hurt, but that was not her biggest concern. It was still so dark. And her neck felt stiff. She wished she could at least tilt her head to crack it, but Denarius was no longer trying to persuade her. She hadn't even seen him since the dining room incident. How much time had passed? An hour? A day? Where were Aveline and Orana?

_Tap._

She started to count the noise. It was something to do. Aside from the ache in her stomach telling her she needed food, she was bored. _Tap._ Well, that was one. What was it, water? _Tap. Tap._ Two, three. Her knees hurt, but she stayed still. Should Hadrianna or her Mater come, Hawke did not want to disgrace herself by groveling. She was the Champion. Chained or not, she was the power of Ferelden and Kirkwall. _Tap._ Power sitting here, contained, listening to water drip. The metal was hurting her hands, she realized. Her knees ached, her wrists were sore, and she needed very badly to be able to turn her head.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Maker what number was that?

_Tap. Tap._

Something, _anything_, please happen soon.

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The boys scattered from their tiny room, darting around Fenris. He couldn't blame them, his appearance was…intimidating. Marc looked up at him from his corner of the room. He was curled up, his grubby knees against his chest. He didn't flee with the other boys, but then, he was new. He couldn't know what a visit from Fenris could mean. He just raised his head sleepily and started at the white haired elf.

"Tell me what you know boy." Fenris hadn't meant to sound so harsh. But the boy didn't seem to mind. He just pushed his hair up, tracing a finger along his scar.

"I want to go home," he whispered. Fenris strode to him, grabbing his wrist and hoisting him up to his height. The boy's feet dangled above the ground, and Fenris saw the fear in his eye. Good. He was not this child's friend.

"Tell me what you know," he dropped the boy. He fell, hurrying to press his back against the wall. Fenris flicked his hand away from him, his fingers clawing out. Yes, he could be a nightmare when he needed to. The boy stared, transfixed on the points of his gauntlets. Fenris showed nothing on his face, the only expression lied in his eyes. Marc knew his life could end tonight.

"I-I don't know much, Serah. The lady was going to-to take me home an-and Master locked her up. You lo-locked her away." His hand trembled as he pointed at the elf. Fenris scowled, taking a step closer. The veins in his skin began to vibrate. His skin began to glow a very faint blue.

"Tell me about Master's plan."

"He-he tried it once, on me. It hurt." Fenris let his light fade, letting the boy calm himself a bit. Marc touched his forehead as he continued. "He took my mind. _He said I could go home._" The child wailed, his body shaking as he recalled his story. "He said it wouldn't hurt. The room was red, he made my mama bleed. He said we could both g-go home."

Fenris remembered that. The woman had begged and pleaded with him as he held her down. Hadrianna had cut her slowly, she reveled in those screams. He remembered how she had healed the woman as she peeled back her skin. But healing wasn't the right word for it. _Preserving _Hadrianna had said, making his skin crawl.

"But mama… sh-she left without me. Master said she didn't want to bring me. But he said I could go home."

As sad as his story was, it was not what Fenris needed. "What is he going to do to the Champion? _She's_ the one who will take you home." He didn't realize what he said until he saw the child look up at him, uncertain hope on his face. Well, why not give a damned child some hope? Mentally he scolded himself; he knew exactly why.

"Master is afraid of death…he took my mind." The boy shook violently, but to his credit his voice would not waver again. "He was inside my head, but I didn't like it. He was trying to control me. I got scared, I didn't want to die either. I…pushed him out. He was furious. That room… it looks like the room he put me in. I think…I think he's trying to take the Lady's mind too."

"Her mind…"

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They waited two days for Orana to get her strength.

Aveline smeared the mud in Orana's hair. She didn't mind, Aveline had a gentle touch. She would take handfuls of dirt and pour water over it, mashing it together like it was dough. She massaged Orana's scalp with it, giving streaks when she could. When she had finished, Orana's hair felt heavy, but it was a blondish brown. Darker than it had been. Aveline had taken a small piece of charcoal and rubbed very little on her face and under her eyes. When she had finished that, she turned to replace her materials. Orana stole a glance at her reflection in the bowl of water.

Her eyes had very thin black lines around them; her hair did not look her own. Her lips were different too, but Aveline had not touched them. With a start, she realized what was different. She was _smiling_.

"The make-up is just to make you look different. I'm sorry I can't do more, but I'm not really the right woman for disguises." Aveline's mind drifted too Isabela, with her heavy make-up and tricks for blending in. Never had she thought she'd wish for the pirate aid.

"Thank you," Orana whispered.

"Don't get your hair wet. If he had something for it I would dye it properly, but…" She shrugged and tugged on her shield. It was large, with a large red crest clearly shown. Orana didn't know whose crest it was, but Aveline caught her staring. "It's the Amell Crest." She looked at it fondly. "That's Hawke's family. But I can bore you with stories later; we have a job to do." In an instant her no-nonsense attitude snapped back into place. She gave the elf a moment to change her mind, but Orana nodded and tucked Hawke's blade inside her sleeve. Aveline tossed her a cowl. "Just to be safe."

Orana tugged the tan cloth over her head, her heart hammering with fear and excitement. She felt so… important. She quieted her fear by reminding herself of Aveline's words. 'We have a job to do.'

_A job, just think of it as a chore._

Aveline nodded once and opened the door. She looked cautiously to her blind spots before stepping out. Orana trailed behind her, focusing on staying close. She wouldn't be taken, they promised she wouldn't be. Soon she'd see Mistress Hawke again, and her papa. Oh the happiness she felt in being able to tell him such a story!

They walked at an even pace. Not at all the mad, blind running Orana had. She could feel the dirt under her feet, but it felt nice. There were no arrows being shot at them. Occasionally she would tug her hood, just to be sure it was on properly. Otherwise, she was staring at the red-haired woman's back. She never saw her remove her armor the night before. Was she like Fenris then? That thought chilled her. She turned her eyes down and thought only of her steps.

Aveline stared ahead, thinking. What in the Maker's name could Hawke be doing? She had sent this elf woman to her, but no word? The elf insisted she was given no message, just the knife. Which she refused to part with. Aveline had seen it tucked away under her pillow last night. But the most memorable thing was the look on Orana's face when she learned she could sleep. Even more so when Aveline refused to let her sleep on the floor. There were many beds, why shouldn't she have one? What did they allow slaves in Tevinter, she wondered. Perhaps Hawke had been right in sending Orana to her. What they would do with her she hadn't the faintest idea.

The gates were in sight, and Aveline did her best to appear friendly. Hawke was good in talking to people. Aveline was good at following Hawke.

A guard called down at them. Orana kept her eyes down.

"Oi, wha' business do you 'ave wench?" His voice boomed down from his tower. Aveline cursed. It was difficult to be friendly to a bastard of a man.

"Good 'morrow Serah!" Aveline called back, a forced smile stretched across her face. "As you can see, we've walked a great distance and were in search of a place to stay and shops so we may replenish our supplies!" The man snorted.

"Fine, let me let down tha' gate." He turned out of sight. Orana tried very hard to stop her trembling hands. She held them together in front of her dress. The cloth was scratchy, and it relaxed her.

"You're not a slave," Aveline whispered without turning. Orana nodded, the realized Aveline couldn't see her. She opened her mouth to speak. She was interrupted by the clanging of chains and curses. The gate lifted very slowly, as if the labor of it all was too great to be moved. It rose enough for them to enter and stopped. A very official looking man came toward them. His walk told Aveline all she needed to know. He was pampered, unbalanced. He had never gone a day hungry and had never seen the face of a Darkspawn. When he thrust a meaty finger in her face, Aveline had to take a deep breath.

"Looking for a place to stay? You gonna' be in here a while then?"

"No longer than we can help, Messer." Aveline smiled politely. "We are simply weary from the road-"

"Do ya' know where you are? This is the glorious city of Tevinter! We can't let any rift enter the city, we have to evaluate you first. _Both_ of you." He looked hungrily at Orana.

Aveline stepped in front of him and pulled a paper from her gauntlet. She held the notice up for the guard to see. He yawned.

"We are here to rest a night." Aveline had no smile on her face. "The Champion of Kirkwall is here as well. We are in her company. Should you not believe us, fetch her yourself." The man nodded.

"A one 'Ser Aveline Vallen', yes. I see no second name on your paper. You may go in, _she_ must be evaluated since she is not written." Orana stepped forward, using every ounce of courage she could muster. Aveline moved to turn, but Orana spoke very slowly.

"Serah," She looked at him, her large eyes meeting his piggish ones. "Do you write the name of the sword you carry? Perhaps your write the names of your shoes when you travel. Please do not anger my Mistress Hawke by insulting her knight." She lowered her eyes, but stayed in her place. The man nodded.

"Ah, forgive me Ser Vallen. I had not realized the nature of yer party. Welcome to Tevinter." He swept his arm out as they walked inside, Orana keeping behind Aveline.

After they had cleared the guard's sight, Aveline turned to her.

"What the Bloody Void was that Orana?" The elf flinched. "You are _not_ a slave!"

"I-I'm sorry, but they wouldn't have let me in otherwise. I thought-"

Aveline patted her hood, a weary smile gracing her face. Orana looked at her, confused. "You were clever, and that was brilliant. But please, do not make Hawke a Slave Owner. Now, let's get back to the task at hand."

"This is the Market District," Orana said, glancing around. "Where do you need to go? I know the way." Her hand flew to her chest, over her heart. As if she was pledging never to lead Aveline astray. The guard chuckled and patted her head once more.

"You know the city, I almost forgot. Oh thank the Maker for you Orana." Orana blushed, she had never been spoken of that way. "Alright, if we are in the Market District, do you know where the poor would be? The man we're looking for is a healer. He is a_ kind_ man, likely healing sick children or kittens." She spat the words, making Orana blink. This man sounded wonderful. Why would Hawke's friend hate him so?

"The sickly people who can't be sold are freed, Serah." Orana tilted her head, as if it were strange to keep such people nearby. "We have no sick. If he's a mage, he should be honored here. He might have an estate."

"None, truly? Orana, do you believe that?" Aveline shook her head. "This will be more difficult than I thought."

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After three days in darkness, Hawke was hungry. And tired. The memory of the orange that elf had given her lingered in her mind, and she thought about it often. Texture, taste, smell, and the sound of a gruff slave's voice. It was something. _Tap._ Oh Maker, the tapping. But there was something else…footsteps?

The light burned her eyes. She blinked the spots away as she heard the steps coming down the stairs. She almost called his name, but stopped herself. If it were him, she wouldn't hear his steps.

"Champion, lovely to see you again!" Hadrianna's voice rang in her ears. The light hurt too much too look at, but she squinted her eyes to make out the blur coming at her. Had Hawke been asleep? She couldn't remember. The collar around her neck clicked, and she felt it being pulled off. She tilted her head, glad to feel how stiff it was. Glad to be able to move it. Hadrianna set it on a nearby table. Hawke pulled her wrists, but they were still bound. "Don't I have a treat for you. You'll thank me later, I know." The heavy cuffs on her wrists felt lighter, and she moved to stand. Hadrianna _tsked_ and pushed her back down. Hawke felt the iron grip on her wrists still; Hadrianna had only taken the chain from the wall and wrapped it around her hand.

_Like a leash,_ Hawke thought bitterly.

"Now rise, Champion. We must not keep Denarius waiting." Hadrianna pulled the chain violently, almost making Hawke stumble. She refused to rise.

"If he wishes to speak," her voice cracked. "He can come to me."

Hadrianna seemed to expect this. Her laughter was cackling. She waved to the door, a white haired figure entering. He knelt to Hawke, taking her by her arms and forcibly lifting her. She could barely register who it was. Fenris carried her at arm's length, as if she were contagious. Hadrianna held the chain and began to walk up the stairs, Fenris holding Hawke behind her. Which was just as well. Her legs screamed at her in pain from being moved so suddenly. Her face was level with his though. His green eyes looked strange. He looked tired. His mouth was set in a hard, thin line. Hadrianna increased her pace, yanking Hawke's arms backwards. She winced, glad the witch could not see. But the elf had. His eyes narrowed at her, and she stared back at him.

"…you're going to die," his voice was low, quiet even. Hawke glared at him.

"You'd better kill me then," she whispered back, looking at Fenris as if he had spat at her. "I want to free the city."

"_Why?_ You can't do anything alone."

"But I'm not," she raised an eyebrow at him. "You're here, Fenris."

Fenris blinked, astonished.

"Besides, a _coward_ can't kill me!" Fenris stopped, and she realized the pull on her arms relaxed a little.

"Very noble Champion! Fenris, drop the dear girl." Hawke's feet hit the floor, but her legs collapsed under her. She was weak. Denarius smiled at her, Hadrianna holding the chain tight. Hawke raised her chin at the mages, distaste on her face. Denarius snapped at the elf. "Set her up would you? And see to it she is comfortable. I do not want to be sore." Hadrianna laughed as she handed the chains to Fenris. She leaned down to Hawke and spat on her shoulder. Grabbing a handful of her hair, Hadrianna sneered in her ear.

"How does it feel to mean less than a _slave_?"

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Hadrianna and Denarius were gone. He was to strip her down and set her in the circle. But…knowing what would happen to her… Fenris hesitated. For two days he thought about this. He thought as he swept and cleaned and took care of Hadrianna's whims. Marc was still in a ball, crying. He wanted to go home. He repeated it like a mantra. As if he needed only to pray for it and it would happen. Now the boy was strapped down, waiting for their Master to take his lifeblood. He was not dead, but he will be soon. So would she.

"_Venhedis_…" He swore, pacing the room. They would return in mere moments and here he was, hesitating. The woman stared at him. Those blue eyes. Those eyes denied his meals, hounded his sleep. Hadrianna was a torment, but this woman… He hated her. He hated her because he had no reason to.

"Swearing won't accomplish anything."

"You damn woman," he growled. He ran to the boy, not minding his steps. The Lyrium dust scattered, the dried blood disrupted. He tore off the leather straps holding him. Marc shuddered as he cried, agony and fear mixed in an animalistic noise. He dragged the boy to his feet. "Stay with me, should you falter you will die." The boy cried, but did as commanded. "You're going home," Fenris said more gently. The boy looked at Hawke. She smiled at him, and his panic seemed to lessen.

"Please, loosen my cuffs," She said to Fenris. But Marc rushed to her. He slipped his fingers in the lock, they were just small enough to fit. There was a click, and they fell to the floor. Hawke blinked. "Where did you learn that?"

"Perhaps we can discuss this _later?_" Fenris said impatiently. Hawke nodded, trying to stand. Her knees buckled under her. Fenris heard steps in the hall and the sound of a cart being pushed. "No time, let's _go_." He picked her up, racing toward the servants' door in the room. Marc followed them, his tears dry.

There was an angry shout.

"Hurry," Hawke urged the two. Marc panted. Fenris's voice was a low grumble. The main hall, that's where they needed to go. But Hadrianna might be there already. And this woman had no weapons, she could barely stand on her own. If they were caught…

"This way!" Marc darted in the kitchen. Having no better idea, Fenris followed him. The kitchen slaves were likely in their room by now, it was late. The room was dark, and Fenris sighed in relief. He noticed the woman he carried did not shake. Instead, she was looking forward, as if she could see where danger may lay. Marc opened a cupboard, and Fenris stopped. But before he could speak, Marc removed a false panel behind the cupboard. There was wind. Marc crawled through, and Fenris set Hawke down. She crawled in after the boy. Fenris turned around and heard the angry shouts of his Master. He ducked in after Hawke, shutting the cupboard behind them and replacing the false panel. He could hear the kitchen door bursting open, followed by angry swears from Hadrianna, and then silence. They had gone. Wind ruffled his hair and he looked.

Directly into her narrowed blue eyes.

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**Okay, that went up sooner than I expected it to. Hurray for small miracles no? Still looking for a beta reader, by the way. Until then, forgive my errors.**


	6. Explanation

**I will not spoil it, but this chapter is very sad. Skip if you have a hard time with**

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Maker he was irritating.

"I thought I couldn't trust you?" she spoke very slowly, looking at the black space she knew his face to be. Marc had led them to a tunnel, but they weren't out just yet. This boy was more than what he seemed. But what was more surprising was this elf's sudden assistance in freeing not only her, but himself and a fellow slave.

"I thought I had told you to stop spreading nonsense." He snapped back at her. Marc shushed them.

"Please, Messer, I got us here, but I don't know the way." Hawke understood what he meant. Marc might have known there was a crawlspace here, he may even suspect it led outside, but there was absolutely no light. And the space was so tight, one must crawl to go through it.

"Fenris, can you do your strange talent?" Hawke asked this, but it wasn't really a question.

Fenris said nothing, but a soft light began in his palm. He held it out toward Marc, his forearm beginning to glow as well. Marc looked ahead. The light was not very strong, but it was all they needed to start moving. Marc led the group, turning and ducking and whispering hushed warnings to the others. Hawke remained quiet, doing her best not to look at the dirt around them. The smell of night came with the breezes, but it was impossible to tell from where they came. A split in the tunnels came, and Marc did not hesitate. He went left, and Hawke stopped. Fenris stopped behind her, unable to go around. Without the light following him, Marc looked back at the two. The space was wide enough to sit, so Hawke sat. The light from Fenris silhouetted her, and Marc could not see her face.

"We're nearly there, Mistress. Why do we stop?"

"Why did you choose this direction?"

Marc blinked at her, unable to understand her point.

"We could go left or right. Normally one would think about it, but you knew where to go. You even knew about this space behind the panel. You've been here before."

"Does it matter?" Fenris said impatiently. "We need to go, Denarius will find us if we stay here."

"How?" She snapped at him. "Hadrianna did not even look in the cupboard. Chances are they are searching the city for us." She looked at Marc again. "I'd like to know who I travel with before I follow them blindly." She crossed her arms, dirt fell from above them. It sprinkled in Marc's hair, he brushed it out. She noticed in the dim light his hands. They were dirty, but not nearly as dirty as someone who should scrub floors for their keep. Marc looked at her, then at Fenris. The elf could not go past Hawke, and the boy could not go without him. Hawke showed no signs of moving, so Marc sighed.

"My name is Marc," He said this slowly, as if recounting an old tale. "My Ma and I were bought by our Master a time ago, I don't know how long. She'd hide me in the cupboard when the Mistress came to yell at the cooks." He looked down at his hands. "I come here a lot… Master never speaks to me usually. I hide in here to get out of work. But I forgot to clean his study." Hawke heard him sniffle. "That night he took me and Mama to that room. He cut her up and tied me down. He cut me." Hawke frowned, hearing the pain in his voice. "He said we could go home. He was going to let us go home. He poured something on my cut, and it burned. Everything was all white, Serah. I-I did my best to be a man. But mama…she stopped screaming. I couldn't look at her, it was too bright. Denarius said she-she went home, without me. He told me…" He hiccupped, but Hawke said no words of comfort. Fenris scowled at her back. "Master was talking to me inside my head. He was moving me, but I didn't want to move. I didn't move my arm, he did, but no-no one was touching me. I got scared, I pushed him out of my head. The white went away, and he was so angry-"

"Explain this place Marc." Hawke interrupted, no pity in her voice.

"When I hid here, after I got caught not cleaning the study, I got this far. But it was so dark. There was a good smell, it smelled like food. That's how I know the way. I think it's this way." The boy turned. Hawke did not.

"Did you reach the end?"

Marc looked crestfallen. He looked back between Hawke and the tunnel. "No…it was too dark…" Hawke seemed to accept this and began to follow him. Fenris did not. He frowned at her, his eyes glaring at her back. She did not stop moving until he spoke.

"What was the point of that?" He snapped, the light from his skin glowing a bit brighter. A line from his upper arm began to glow. "You damned woman, you come here with your wretched talk of freedom and what? You were imprisoned! The only reason you are even alive is sheer luck. Yet you would stop us and interrogate a child as if you did not trust him."

"Ah, you're stopping us to interrogate me. You do not trust me, then, but you are the one who freed me." He couldn't see her face, but he was certain it looked smug. Marc glanced around nervously, afraid their voices would draw attention.

"I freed you because you freed Orana, no other reason," He spoke lower, now aware of his volume. "They say she was killed by the guards, however."

"She wasn't," was her answer.

"Regardless, now you have two more slaves and you yourself can barely stand. Yet you still speak as if you intend to actually free the city. You are a damned fool."

There was no answer for a few moments.

"Can we move now, Fenris?" She asked, her voice calm and steady. The tunnel was very well lit now, and Marc flinched as he looked around. In the dirt, smooth yellowish stones seemed to poke through. Upon his touch, one fell from the wall. It was no stone.

It was a bone.

He panicked, crawling madly down the path. Hawke followed him, Fenris not far behind her. But Marc was smaller, he moved much more quickly.

"Marc!"

He scrambled away, desperate to move. Hawke called after him again, but he was kicking dust into her eyes and she could not follow him. Her head scrapped the ceiling of the tunnel, letting dust fall into her face. She was probably kicking dirt at Fenris as well, but she needed to catch up to him.

" Stop! _Marc!"_

Eventually Hawke lost sight of him, and Fenris was not sure where they were. Another fork was in the tunnel, and Hawke could not tell which Marc would have ventured. She looked for groves or scuffs in the dirt, but everything was so old, it was difficult to see where a crumble could be from a child's hand or simply age. A skull was buried under her knee, but she dismissed the thought of it. Better not to think of such morbid things. She glanced over at the elf, still on his hands and knees behind her. His markings were all lit, even to the line snaking behind his ear. She looked around, hearing nothing and feeling no fresh breeze. But the smell of night was still pungent among the mold and dirt.

"He is gone, Champion."

Hawke sighed in frustration. How could she protect the damned child if he darted off like this? Not knowing where he was, there was no possible way to protect him. Her fist lashed out at the wall, rewarding her with more dirt and a worm. She shuddered, inching away from the thing. Fenris watched her carefully, and she felt indignant at his stare. There was dirt smeared on his cheek, and his white hair was filthy. Chewing her lip, she could not stand those watchful green eyes of his.

"…I could stand."

"What?" Fenris asked, his eyebrows knotting together in confusion.

"You didn't need to carry me, I could stand and move on my own." She pinched the gravel in front of the left passage. The pebbles were cool to the touch.

"Do not lie, I saw you. There is no shame in admitting you are weak."

"And I didn't need you to free me. I could escape. Eventually you were going to loosen my cuffs, and when you did I needed you off your guard. Feigning weakness…" she trailed off, turning down the left tunnel.

Fenris gave an awkward smile, glad she could not see him. He knew she was clever, and he knew following her was foolish. But… perhaps, since she defied Denarius twice, perhaps she _could_ be the change these people needed. Though right now, she had a smudge of dirt on the bridge of her nose.

Hawke turned and began to crawl again. The tunnel became wider, and he noticed her hair moved slightly. _Wind._ Her hands seemed to feel everywhere, touching dirt and bone, feeling what was warm or cool. She raised her hand to the ceiling of the tunnel, her fingertips pressing against it. It seemed a fool thing to do, should it collapse on her. But he remained silent, letting the rouge work her magic. Her fingers pushed in, dirt falling as they went. A smile stretched across her face. Again, she shoved her hand into the dirt. To his surprise, it went through easily, and when she pulled it back moonlight poured in. Immediately he stopped his skin. The light snuffed out. The abruptness of it made him feel queasy.

"Wait," she whispered.

"Are we going back for the boy?" He asked, surprised she would think of such a thing. She seemed surprised by the question as well.

"Marc left us, it is his decision what happens now." She pulled some dirt from the hole, making it wider. Fenris could see a guard's back, red hair tied in a loose pony tail. He drew a finger to his lips. Hawke could not know what the elf saw. She spoke again in a hushed whisper. "I asked us to wait because…where will you go after this?" Fenris kept his eyes on the guard's back, but he did think about that. Where would he go? He had assumed he would follow her to freedom. He hadn't thought of anything else, really. Perhaps he could offer her his services. Surely she would be in need of assistance. Her goals were too grand to reach alone, and he did not plan to leave Tevinter again. The guard began to walk away from them, so he looked at her.

"I am not-"

"Excellent, you'll come with me." Hawke pulled dirt down, showering them with twigs and vermin. She stood, dusting herself off while in the hole. He gaped at her. Her sheer _gall_ of just raising herself from the ground was just… well, he couldn't say unexpected. She stepped on the ground, pulling herself up. Her dress was wretched, thick with dirt and grime. A reddish brown stain covered the hem, and Fenris knew that had been there for days. She knelt down and offered him a hand up. "Call me Hawke."

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"Please Messer, my Lady has taken ill, do you not know a healer?" Orana pleaded with a burly man. He looked sympathetically at Orana, obviously knowing why she was so panicked. He was a slave, but by his clothing, a much cherished one. He looked at Aveline, who was red in the face. She did _not_ approve of this, but again, Orana had insisted. And Aveline had no other idea.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I don't. Does she not have aid in her estate? The Magistrate-"

Orana began a coughing fit. She covered her mouth, trying to silence it. Her eyes were watery, and the man looked concerned. So did Aveline. She rushed and held Orana, keeping her steady. She looked at Aveline's green eyes, her own red. Aveline glanced around; being sure they had not caused a scene. She snapped her head at the man, who flinched under her gaze.

"_I _do not need aid, and do you think the Magistrate will help me?" She spat, the man glancing around himself. His eyes showed compassion, obviously touched by a Master taking such care with her slave. He leaned down, helping Orana stand. While he leaned, he whispered in her ear. Orana's eyes widened and she nodded silently.

"Thank you, Messer," she whispered. He nodded and went on his way. Aveline blinked.

"What is it? What did he say?" she urged. Orana smiled, her eyes cheerful.

"There is a Mage who is keeping an unusually low profile. He'll heal a slave in the undercity, no coin needed. Does that sound like your sir?" Orana smiled sheepishly as Aveline beamed at her. She patted the woman, Orana started to love the show of affection.

"Yes, that sounds right. Orana you are a true blessing. Hawke could not have chosen better," she nodded. "Now, where is this undercity?" Orana pointed to a sewer cap, down a narrow ally. Aveline raised her eyebrow at her, and Orana nodded solemnly. Aveline sighed. "Well going in now would draw too much attention. Let's see what else we can learn before we go."

As it turns out, Orana was perfect for gathering information. She was small and weak, and no one paid much attention to her. They were focused on Aveline, who despised being labeled as an Owner. But they needed to fit in, and this ruse was the best they could think of. Through the day, Orana discovered this man was in fact a mage from Kirkwall. His hair was the color of gold, they say. His touch was that of an angel. All of these reports to Aveline she frowned at. One saying the man was a saint, a gift from the Maker Himself, made her spit to the side. "I don't like the taste of bullshit," she had said.

"Why do you dislike this man so?" Orana had asked. Aveline softened her gaze at her.

"Has Hawke mentioned her life in Kirkwall?" Orana nodded. Aveline smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. "And you believed it? Maker you're a rare one. All of her pain and reputation can be owed to that _gift_ of a man."

"What happened?" Orana asked, her eye make-up smeared to the side a bit. Aveline stared at her in shock. "We were never told stories…" She looked down at her toes, the dust from the road thick on them. Aveline's shock lessened. She sighed.

"Forgive me, but thank the Maker for that," She looked at the stalls, beginning to put away their wares. It would be another hour before night fell. Again she sighed. "The man's name is _Anders_. He and Hawke were…" Aveline struggled to find the words. "Well, Hawke was sure it was love. But that man seemed to have warped ideas, ideas he placed above the woman who cared most for him." Aveline's face seemed to change as she spoke, anger filling her eyes. Her mouth twitched into an ugly, unforgiving sneer. "The man killed the Grand Cleric. He started that blighted war. Because of him, Hawke fought for the Templars. Her sister…Bethany…did not." Aveline's face melted into sorrow. Orana looked away from her, knowing the Capitan would not want to be seen weak. "Hawke's done terrible things before but…that… it was not her choice. Fighting had not been her choice. The sisters never agreed to anything, but to pin them against each other in a fight was terrible. Instead of helping Hawke, Anders fled. Here."

Orana let that sink in. Hawke had admitted to killing her sister during the war, but she never mentioned the man. She opened her mouth, but shut it. Aveline nodded at her, allowing her to ask anything she wished.

"The Champion…did she not have a terrible reputation to begin with?" Her voice was timid, but Aveline laughed.

"Hawke was an ass most times. She had no tact. But everything that woman has ever done has been for the good of everyone. But if someone was to hold a city hostage, and she had to choose between you and that city, she would gut the man making demands of her. Her temper… Orana, _never_ enrage Hawke." Orana took that in jest, but Aveline did not share the mirth. "Orana, Hawke is _not_ a cold blooded woman. Simply a woman scorned."

"By the man we're looking for?"

"_Yes,"_ Aveline spoke darkly, looking at the falling night sky. "What will happen, I cannot say. It is better if Hawke is the only one privy to such information."

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**A filler chapter mostly, to fill in a few blank places. Still, if you think you know where this is going I'd love to hear it!**


	7. Commit

**Enjoy **

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"You mentioned you were looking for a friend here?" Fenris asked, the both of them behind an inn. The ally was dark, and their voices were easily masked in the drunken cheers from the inn. A few belligerent cat calls were made from inside. Fenris had his back to the wall, sitting on the ground. Hawke sat across from him, her fine robe filthy. She couldn't move around the city like that without drawing attention. Nor could he, but he could not simply change his clothing.

"Yes, a mage," Hawke tied her hair back, using a scrap of her robe. A stray hair fell over her eye, and she blew it away. It fell to the side of her face. "Although, I wouldn't call him a _friend_ anymore. Have you heard about the Mage Uprising?"

"I had, in fact," he said.

She nodded. "It's important I find him. But for now, we need to travel."

"Travel?" He hit the back of his head on the stone wall in frustration. The stupidity of his actions setting in. "Look at us. I am an escaped elven slave covered in Lyrium. I don't exactly _blend in._"

Cheering was heard inside. Hawke looked at him, a smirk across her face. A man was staggering down the alley, hiccupping as he walked in a drunken stupor. Fenris held his breath, but Hawke stood. She smiled brightly, as if she had been waiting for this man. She walked to him, a spring in her step. The moon danced off her unkempt hair, her bright eyes friendly. Fenris gawked. The man burst into laughter, and Hawke was suddenly laughing with him. She was by his side in a blink, helping him stand.

"Oh Serah!" She laughed. The man looked groggily at her, confusion hazing his eyes. But he smiled crookedly.

"Ay there lass, I aint got the coin for ya 'tonight," he wraped an arm around her waist. Fenris started to stand, but Hawke winked at him.

"No? Oi that's a shame man. Ca'int you make it worth my while?" She pouted at him, her voice thick with an accent Fenris had never heard from her. The man looked her up and down hungrily. Hawke smiled as she led him toward the back where Fenris was. The man followed willingly.

As soon as they were out of sight from the street, Hawke hit the back of his neck with the side of her hand. The man dropped like dead weight. She started to pull off his tunic, Fenris just stared. "What?" she asked him as she removed the man's waist belt.

"You would steal from a drunken man?" She looked at the tunic and grinned. She started to unlace her dress.

"Why not? We're not in a position to be saintly are we?" The dress dropped to her feet. Fenris could only see her back. Her arms were muscular, but bruised. He was to thank for that. She pulled the tunic over her head, the hem dropping just barely enough to cover her modestly. She took the belt and tied it around her waist. The sleeves looked too large for her; she rolled them up and cuffed them. Her boots were the same from her armor, wrapped tightly around her calves. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Would you steal his trousers as well?" She looked over her shoulder, blinking at him.

"Why would I?" She tugged the shirt down, the neckline around her shoulders. It was not near as elegant as one would expect from a Champion, yet Fenris couldn't help but gawk in amazement. "Now we need a disguise for you."

"It won't matter," he said, holding out his arms. "The markings would still show through." A sigh. Hawke nodded.

"Honestly? That's kind of amazing."

"Almost as amazing as your lie." Hawke flinched. She knew he meant Marc.

"It was not a lie. If I knew where he was…"

"But you don't. You have set a child free from a house, but left him in the mercy of the city. He may be dead."

That was true. As much as she wanted to grit her teeth in grief, she knew they had to keep moving forward. If Marc had been snatched up by Denarius, there was next to nothing they could do for him. If he was taken by a new owner, perhaps Hawke could find and free him. She wanted desperately to run around the city calling his name, but they did not have the time. Her promise to him had been broken, and Fenris knew it.

"I doubt he is that lucky." She knelt down, searching the unconscious man's pockets. "I suppose you draw a lot of attention no matter what you wear. We won't last long in the city without them hearing of us." She sighed, hooking a pouch around her thigh. It looked heavy. A small pocket blade was in his back pocket, Fenris marveled at how thorough she was being in her search. She touched her pony tail hesitantly. "Fenris?" She looked over to him.

"What?" He said, crossing his arms stiffly. She smiled. Cheers and jeers were heard from inside.

"Thank you." She reached behind her and took her hair. She held it out, taking the small knife in her other hand and slicing her pony tail off. It fell around her in shining, black strands. His mouth opened in awe, before he caught himself and looked away. Cutting her hair did not mean anything. Her hair fell around her face in a shaggy mess. It reminded him of Marc. "Should I take out one of my eyes?" She touched just below her left eye. The small knife seemed to glitter in the light. Fenris thought she was serious before she laughed and pocketed the stolen blade. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. The dirt on her face along with her now short hair and man's tunic made her look as if she were a slave herself. He understood why she did it; she was throwing away the power of her title. It wasn't just hiding from the magistrate; it was building herself up from nothing.

She held her detached hair tightly in her hand, her eyes meeting his. He felt her determination. Knew her pride was not unjust. A breeze blew, and her grip lessened. Her hair fell in strands, seeming to disappear in the shadows of night. The drunken man snorted, rolling over on his side.

Standing, he held out his hand. Well, if the damned woman was to go on with these fool ideas, she would need help. Hawke took it firmly, not a moment's hesitation. A half smile played across his face. She was an absolute fool.

"My services are yours, Hawke."

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Orana couldn't lift the sewer cap. Aveline had to wedge her shield and push to free it. It clanged off to the side. Not enough for them to get through, but enough to wedge her hands in and move it with brute force. It slid to the side as if it weighed no more than paper. She glanced around the streets, making sure they were not seen. Orana fidgeted with her hands nervously. Papa should be at the house by now, wasn't he worried about her? How long would it take to find this Anders?

"I'll go first," Aveline handed Orana her sword. Orana had to grip it with both hands, and even then the effort made her arms shake. The leather on the hilt was rough on her hands, burning them a little as it slipped from her grasp. But she didn't drop it.

Aveline let her feet dangle in the opening. It stank of mold and decay, but Aveline muttered something before pinching her nose and dropping in. Orana expected the sound of water, but after a few silent moments she peeked her head over it. There was no sign of the woman or her red hair. Orana opened her mouth, preparing to call down.

"You can jump now, I'll catch you. Hold my sword tight Orana!" The gruff voice echoed from below. Orana looked hesitantly around. But if Mistress Vallen said she would catch her… No, it was no good. Her body tensed up as she looked down in the bleak darkness. Fear gripped her like a vice. Even as she told herself to be brave and jump, her feet would not obey her. Aveline must have sensed her hesitation. "Orana, trust me." Again Orana stayed rooted to the ground. "Trust Hawke." Still, no movement. Aveline sighed, frustrated. "Its fine, throw down my sword then." Orana's trembling arms stretched out over the man hole. The sword shook in her hands. Swallowing, she let it fall.

As it dropped from her, the dagger tucked away in her dress fell after it. Orana saw the red hilted blade and dove after it. That was Mistress Hawke's. She could _not _lose it!

Aveline caught the sword easily in her right hand. She sheathed it before she was knocked to the ground by an unexpected weight. She grunted as she lifted it off her, laughing when it shuddered. "Orana?"

"I caught it," Her voice whispered, the knife clamped between her hands, as if it were her lifeline. Aveline chuckled.

"Good girl, and you made it here." She stood up, helping Orana rise to her feet. Orana shook still, but it was due to the adrenaline from the fall. "Come along now, there's still work to." The two looked around them, but it was impossible to see. And neither of them had a way to make fire. Orana looked up, but there was no way to climb up. But the guard didn't seem worried. If anything, she seemed annoyed. She reached down and gently picked up two small pieces of gravel. Aveline threw one behind them, where it hit something with a sharp _ping._ She threw the second in front of them, but no sound other than a soft _thunk_ answered them. Nodding, she headed forward. Orana followed, tucking Hawke's blade in the bosom of her dress. The metal was cold against her skin, but she knew it was safe.

Aveline took her hand and put it on her shoulder. Orana kept it there, knowing what she meant. It was dark, they shouldn't be separated. They began walking, slow careful steps. There was a dripping sound far off. _Tap. Tap._ Maker that would get annoying.

The ground was uneven, but drier than she would have guessed. Her feet occasionally were nicked on a sharp pebble. While she stumbled along, she made sure not to let her hand slip from the cold metal of Aveline's shoulder. Aveline's steps were firm, Orana could not imagine her ever faltering.

There was no telling how long or far they walked. But Aveline slipped down suddenly, pulling Orana with her. They slid down the slope quickly, dropping to the end harshly. It was such a shock, even more so for the guard. There had been no hint of the sudden drop, only darkness and pebbles. Orana barely had time to gasp as she landed on the guard yet again. Aveline's armor was not very comfortable to land on, and she suspected she would have bruises. Aveline lifted her off and stood, again helping Orana up.

"_You dare?"_ A voice echoed off the walls. Orana wiped her head around, vainly searching for the source. Only darkness.

"Anders, you bloody idiot, help this girl!" Aveline snapped the order out so sharply, Orana winced. There was a pause, then the place filled with light. It was a small room, two cots and a table filled with things Orana couldn't name. There were candles scattered in odd places, there was no way they could have been lit by anything other than magic. Orana dropped to her knee, bowing her head at the man.

The man had blonde hair, tied back. His clothing was not from Tevinter, she noticed. Feathery, dark colored. He may set a new fashion with it. Yet the man did not look like a magister. He looked worn, as if he had just lost a fight. He sank down on a cot, rubbing his temple with both hands.

"Maker's breath can I have no peace? Now you assault a child just to get to me?" Aveline did not justify that with an answer. Anders sighed and beckoned Orana nearer. She stood, but kept her eyes downcast as she walked toward him. He pated the cot, and she sat by him. Aveline leaned against the wall, arms crossed across her chest. "What's you name child," he breathed, not seeming to actually care for her name.

"O-Orana, Serah," she said. He nodded as if she answered correctly. He rolled up her sleeves, lightly touching the small cuts and bruises he found. There was a warm, tingling sensation where he touched. He motioned for her to loosen her dress, likely to look her over. After a worried glance to Aveline, who nodded at her, she complied. She loosened the bodice, and Hawke's blade fell into her lap.

Anders face paled.

He stared at the thing as if it were a snake. Orana grabbed it quickly. It was her Mistress's blade, why should he fear it so? Anders turned his head to Aveline, hate filling his eyes.

"Oh of _course_ you're not alone," His words dripped with venom, Orana looked between them confused. "Of course _she's here_. Why didn't you bring her then? I can't be lucky enough for you to tell me she's at the Maker's side. I doubt _she'd_ be that lucky either." Orana stared at him in shock. Aveline did not.

"I never said I was alone," she sniffed. "Hawke is very much alive, despite your efforts."

"You tried to hurt Mistress Hawke?" Orana hugged the knife close to her. She stood and backed from the cot quickly. Pleasant touch or no, how could he try to hurt such a kind woman? His eyes flashed at her, but Anders rubbed his temple again and it disappeared. He sighed.

"You have met her then?"

"She freed me," Orana stood a bit taller, pride in her mistress swelling up in her. Anders nodded, but did not seem particularly surprised.

"She _freed_ her sister too."

"Don't you say another word of Bethany, Anders. That was not our choice to make. Thank Andraste for that." Aveline hadn't moved, but the tension in the air was thick. Anders looked up at her, scowling.

"Like you would understand our plight!"

"Oh enough of your damned plight, Anders! You started a war, what more do you want to accomplish?" Aveline was taking a step closer after every word, and Anders rose to his feet. Orana stared at them, mouth agape.

"War is not what I wanted. Is it so hard to understand why I would want freedom? Why I want to-"

"It doesn't matter, you bloody idiot!" Aveline met his eyes with her own green ones. There was very little room between them. Orana gripped her knife tightly, sensing a fight about to break out.

"How can it not matter!" He yelled into her face, but Aveline would not give him any space to back into.

"It did matter to Hawke!"

"That… our idea's were just too different, I _told_ her I'd only wind up hurting her… She tried to kill me!"

"You came after her, what else was she to do? Let you stab her in the back, or wait and let it be a surprise?"

"She could have come with me, she could have freed us all. She chose to fight me!" His eyes flashed again, mixed with pain and anger. "She refused to even consider-"

"Because it's _done!_ The uprising is over, you _lost_ Anders-"

"**It will **_**never**_** be over! I will not rest until every mage is freed, and that woman obliterated!"**Orana stared, horrified. The man's voice changed, and it looked as if his skin was cracking. Blue light filled the small cavern, the air tinged with magic. Aveline grabbed his shirt, pulling his face to hers. He sneered at her, but Aveline just smirked and pulled herself back a little. Anders stopped glowing; he stared at her in confusion. Suddenly, she pulled him forward. She banged her head on his, making his eyes roll back in pain. She dropped him, he hit the ground in a crumpled heap. Aveline smiled at Orana.

"That went well I think."

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	8. Planning

**Remember, I love any and all feedback. Side note, Hawke appearance now is based off the default Hawke in the game, but please creates her in your own image if you'd like. Enjoy**

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Insane.

She was absolutely insane.

He couldn't think of her otherwise. In the middle of the day, in broad daylight, in view of any and every guard, she was _pick pocketing_. He stayed near buildings and shadows, letting people stare at him and continue their lives. He was a sight, that was certain, but not a new one of this city. Denarius had already paraded him about. They knew who he was. Yet the short haired girl dashing madly through the streets was not new either, apparently. She bumped into people, calling out swears and apologies mixed and bowing her head in shame before rushing off again. A few of the men stared at her legs, but other than a snickering comment nothing else was done. No one questioned who she was or if she belonged to anyone. And they certainly did not notice the bags she picked from them.

She ran up to him, not a drop of sweat on her. Her new bangs dragged over her blue eyes, but he could still feel their piercing gaze. She pushed them out of her eyes, smiling at him and holding out three small pouches. They didn't look very heavy, but they were beautifully done. Red and blue and purple velvet, with a gold cord tying them closed. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she winked. Opening the purple, he saw a glint of gold. Pocket change of the nobles, riches to a slave. "You continue to surprise me," he sighed. She handed him the bags, which he tied to the inside of his shoulder blade.

Strange, not a day before he had been stealing fruit. Today it was gold. What would tomorrow bring?

"There's a vendor behind that fruit stall. You have my note?" She asked him, but her eyes were looking around. Her feet kept moving, as if she had important things to do and needed to get them done quickly. He nodded, but realizing she wasn't looking at him, agreed vocally. She nodded, flinching as he raised his arm out toward a tailor. She nodded and rushed away; pardoning herself from any particularly noble people she crossed. Their ruse was a good one, a slave teaching another of lower rank. Rather, commanding the lower rank. No one would draw any other conclusion; no one knew who she was. None of these people knew a magister was furiously searching for this very pair.

He held three sovereigns in his palm. A down payment, she had said, should the armor smith not believe him. After all, a slave should not carry gold for personal use. The shop was behind the fruit vendor, making the air smell of fresh apples and Elfroot. Not a fruit, but just as sought after.

The man was hammering away on an anvil, curving a breastplate. He frowned as Fenris approached, setting his hammer on his table. Fenris nodded a greeting.

"Something was ordered?" The gruff man's voice rumbled from his chest, as if it were made of gravel. Fenris shook his head, handing the man a piece of paper. This was another ingenious idea of Hawke's. Slaves were not taught to read or write, so a written note was easily accepted. Fenris had no honest idea what the squiggly markings on the paper meant, but it made the man chuckle. "All be, the Champion huh?"

Fenris shrugged, although inwardly he winced. Why had she used her title in the note? This man would brag of his sale to the Champion, and Denarius would catch wind of it. The man nodded again, searching behind his stall. He produced a neatly folded leather/mail armor set, and Fenris fought to keep the shock from his face. The man set it down. There was no mistake; that was the armor Hawke had arrived in. How had this man gotten it?

"Let's discuss the price in the back, hmm? I got everything but the boots, won't charge you for that of course." The man jerked his thumb by the forge. Fenris took the armor before walking toward the back. Should anything happen, he would at least fulfill his part of the bargain. The back had a thick piece of cloth off to one side, likely for privacy if it were needed. A few stools sat around a small table. A tub of water sat on the table, undisturbed until the man sat. He put a strong arm on the table, making the water ripple. Fenris sat across from him.

"So you know her?" The man spoke casually, as if they were talking of a mutual friend. Fenris stayed quiet, it could be a trap. Best to give as little information as possible. The man seemed to register his silence as an answer. He laughed heartily. "Aye you do. Denarius is piping mad I hear. But no one knows why."

"He would hardly admit to holding the Champion against her will. Even less likely to reveal she escaped."

"That's what I thought!" He leaned forward, but his face was turned to the water bin. "Not everyone here is evil, elf. Some of us _want_ to be changed." Fenris stayed silent, her leather armor resting on his lap. He put the three coins on the table; the man glanced at them before snatching them up. He tossed them in the water. Each made a _plink_ noise as it settled to the bottom. The gold swam around, and Fenris realized it was not the coin. The coin was no more than a piece of metal, painted gold. "Alright, what've we got."

The man reached and took the three metal pieces in his hand. Water was splashed onto the table, and the gold paint settled onto the wood. The metal looked like the coins, but engraved on each piece were more symbols Fenris didn't understand. But the man seemed to, each piece he tossed into the forge after studying. "You know how damned crazy you are, girl?"

"How do you know her?" Fenris asked, looking into the fire as if it were keeping secrets from him. The man chuckled, an increasingly annoying sound, as he stood.

"You think she went straight to Denarius when she got here? Woman hardly knew the difference between an Inn and a Brothel." He took a sword from the shelf above him. It was nearly as long as Fenris was, but the man lifted it with ease. He handed it out to the elf. Fenris stood, placing the armor on the table. He gripped the sword, seeing why the man had such an easy time. The blade was weighted, but it was balanced. Were he weaker, this would be a challenge to hold. But he was not weak. He reached in his shoulder pad to get a coin out, hoping these coins were real. But the man waved him off. "Your gold means nothing. Just make use of it."

"How did you get this armor? How do you know the situation?" Fenris was grateful, he slung the blade into it's sheathe. The man helped hook it up to his armor; he carried it on his back effortlessly. Still, this man must have some tie to Hawke.

"She told me about it before it happened," the man leaned back in his chair, looking at an empty stool at the table. The look in his eye was that of someone picturing what was not there. "The night before the storm came, just a few days ago. She stopped by here and stayed. She's bloody brilliant. Makes you think she can do the things she says she will." Fenris nodded, he understood what he meant. "So I tell her; 'You need me miss, just say the word." He held up the note Fenris had given him, as if he expected Fenris to suddenly understand. "When that Magister came to pawn these, I had a feeling she did something. And now you're here. Not what I expected."

"I'd hardly think so," Fenris chuckled, relaxing a bit. The man was burly, but friendly enough. He didn't seem to mind he was an elf, even if his eyes were surprised Hawke would send him. The two men talked for a while before Fenris said his parting words. The man smiled and gave him a leather sack. Fenris took it gratefully and shoved her armor into it. Pulling the leather cord, the bag shut itself. He slung the bag over his shoulder, the armors' man giving him a pat on the back before he left.

Hawke seemed to attract strange people.

She, on the other hand, was not having such a pleasant time. She pinched a guard's purse, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She willed tears to her eyes, made her arm tremble. The guard's eyes shown through slits in his helm. Brown, not a hint of light gracing them. She kept her hair over her eyes, praying he did not make her speak. Changing one's appearance was one thing, a voice was another.

"Ay woman, that your hand I felt on me bum?" He laughed, his fellow guard snorted.

"Leave her be Erik, she's done no harm."

Thank the Maker, a sympathetic soul.

"Ralf yer just about as much fun as it gets." He didn't lessen his grip on her arm. His eyes looked her up and down hungrily, as if he were deciding which part of a lamb to eat first. "Slave then, eh? Wassur name?"

Alcohol was on his breath. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She looked panicked to Ralf, but he shrugged at her. _Shouldn't be a thief,_ his gesture said.

"You dumb?" Erik pulled her closer, looking in her face. Dumb, that was brilliant. She could use that. "S'alright, I like my women quiet."

"She's not a woman, Erik. She's a slave." Ralf turned his back to them, obviously not intending to help Hawke. "Oh just hurry it up will you? I'll cover your post."

Dread filled Hawke. Cover his post? Where was Erik going? Well, he dragged her along with him. He made no effort to match her pace. As a result, Hawke staggered behind him. The guard tower was empty. Erik pushed the door open with one arm with ease. The guard station reminded her of Aveline, but much less neat. It was strange; Hawke hadn't realized a dungeon would be in a guard tower. Near it, sure, but not _in_ it. Erik threw her in a room. Bunkers were set up through the room, but no one was in them. Erik shut the door behind him, pushing the deadbolt in. Understanding flew through Hawke, it seemed to make sense now. Why throw property in the dungeon?

The man pulled off his helmet.

"We gonna 'ave a lil fun." His drunken slurred voice made a smile appear across Hawke's face. He had locked them in. There was not a soul around. And he was drunk. The wheels in her head started to turn as he disarmed himself. He had a sword tied to his hip, but there was a seal on the hilt. It was perfect for her to use to escape. It looked as if it would slide easily through skin, maybe even bone. She couldn't carry such a thing without drawing attention to herself. No, nothing was here she could use around the city. Maybe in the chests there were better fitting clothes, maybe even a dagger or two. That would be lucky. But first, she needed to have the freedom to roam this tower as she pleased. Erik's smothering presence would not help.

She made her hands tremble as she loosened her tunic. The man's plump face grinned at her, showing an absence of a front tooth. Oh, she knew how to play the part of a helpless victim. She knew the faces to make and how many tears to shed. She'd seen it often enough. Been the cause of it.

She also knew how to stab a man's lower belly before he registered she had stolen his sword.

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Orana sat by the cot, Aveline stood by the door. Anders was laid out, groaning as he stirred. His eye creaked open, looking at the elf through slits. She held Hawke's blade to her chest, a defiant look in her eye. That's right, Hawke was here. He tried to sit up, wincing at the pain in his head. He glared at the guard, who flicked her hand in greeting. Orana leaned over him.

"Are you alright, Messer?" Anders looked at her. He pushed himself up, leaning forward. His head turned to the side to meet her eyes. His earring caught the light, making the tarnished thing shine.

"How alright would you be?" He snapped. Aveline narrowed her eyes at him, but he ignored her. He pointed to the knife. "How did you get that _thing_?"

Orana looked at it, her finger tracing the carvings in the metal. She didn't know what it meant or what it could mean to Hawke, but she knew it was important. And she would not disappoint her mistress. "My Lady gave it to me. Her kindness has no limit." She smiled, but Anders did not seem to understand her joy. Aveline shot him a warning look.

"Right," he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Orana didn't think it shown like gold like the others said. He seemed only a very tried man. Tired, agitated, and worn. Anders stared at the blade in discontent. "And I suppose the reason you haven't dragged me to _that_ Hellish Woman is…?"

"We are _not_ abducting you. What if someone comes looking for you? You do some good," Aveline said the last bit begrudgingly. "Hawke knows the difference between right and wrong."

"I wonder sometimes," he spat. Orana sighed inwardly. Mistress attracted strange people.

"What has she done to make you hate her so?" Orana asked sadly, not believing this man could hold such a grudge.

"Enough," Aveline waved her arm dismissively. "How many patients see you?"

"None," He looked down at his hands. "I go to them. There's a network here, and I've made a few friends. Someone is hurt, I catch word, and I'm there. No one comes here. No one is suppose to." His glare at Orana was pointed. Orana looked down. "Well, I've been losing patients recently. None have called for me. I wonder if something happened." He sighed.

"So you can move freely about the city?"

His laugh had no humor.

"I'm a mage, I get some privileges. But a magister will buy me up and suddenly I'm a slave. I know the system here. I can't move around, I'll draw attention." Suddenly, he snapped his head at Aveline. "Unless… be my guard. Orana, pose as my slave. If I look like I have power of my own-"

"She is _not_ a _slave!_" Aveline marched to the bed, furious. Orana stood, hoping to hold her back if she needed to. "I don't care how logical it is, we will not become them!"

"If I have power of my own," Anders continued as if Aveline had never spoken. "They'll leave me be. I could even leave if I wanted to. Yes, that could work. The Maker has a grand sense of humor." He looked at Aveline's face. Angry red splotched on her cheeks, her eyes full of anger. Orana had a hand on her breastplate, whispering something hushed to the guardswoman. Whatever she said, it did not lessen her anger. But Aveline didn't put a hand on the elf. "Don't you see? This is the only way."

"That's what you said about the Chantry!" Orana surprised them both with her outburst. "Mistress told me this story. You are the reason for that war, it's _your_ fault she's so unhappy! You told her 'There's no other solution' didn't you? Don't you know how those words haunt her? Mistress is kind-" Orana was silenced by Aveline, the guard gently covering her mouth. Orana sank back down on the stood, sobs shaking her body. Anders looked at her in astonishment.

"…She believed Hawke?"

"Yes," Aveline put a gentle hand on her back, letting her know it was alright to cry. "Hawke found a rare girl indeed. Anders, we do not have time for this. We need to leave. I will not abduct you, you must come willingly. If you don't, consider me your shadow. You will not leave my sight."

Anders seemed to regard this. It wasn't hard to see what he was thinking. Eventually, he knew, he'd need to face Hawke. At the same time, why make it easy? The large eyes of the Elven girl seemed to answer that. Her trust in her Lady, he inwardly cringed at the term, was genuine. How horrible a life did this girl live that she would turn to _Hawke_ for aid?

"Messer, I won't let you hurt My Lady again," Orana didn't sound menacing, but she wasn't trying to. She was a scared, lost girl. He couldn't blame her for clinging to Hawke. He had, once. "She saved me. She's saving Papa." Oh?

"Your papa?" He asked gently. He looked at her softly, as if he could understand her hope. Orana nodded. The change in his eyes was almost immediate.

"Yes, she's getting papa for me. Mistress is so selfless-"

"She promised you this?" Anders asked slowly. The girl looked at him in confusion. When she nodded, Anders laughed. "She's a damned bloody liar-"

"Anders-"

"No Aveline, listen. Girl, listen to me. Oh get that scowl off your face." He held up his hands, showing he was harmless. Orana frowned at him, knowing he was not going to praise Hawke. "She is a liar. I will swear to you, she will sooner return with someone competent than your father. Unless your father can use a sword, I would not count on her help."

"She saved me-"

"And you've been helpful, haven't you?" Aveline glared at Anders, warning him. He pretended not to notice. "I'll go back with you. Hawke will praise you, I'm sure. But mark my words; _you might never see your father again._"

"Anders you little tit. Hawke _is_ a good woman. Most misery you know is caused by your own hand. Orana, come, we need to get back. Hawke might already be at the cabin." Orana brightened at those words. She stood at attention, waiting for Aveline to lead her. _Sheep_, Anders thought bitterly. He threw his legs over the bed, getting himself up. He grabbed his staff and leaned against it pitifully. Orana looked at him in concern, but Aveline just rolled her eyes. He felt the small lump on his forehead. Damn that woman. Walking normally, he went to a back wall. Two candles blew out, a trail of smoke winding off the extinguished wick. The wall seemed to move, and opened to a bright light.

"Maker," Aveline huffed from behind him. "Of course we didn't need to crawl through a sewer."

Anders only snickered.

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End file.
